Reflections Through Time
by Perfect Lionheart
Summary: Post HBP Harry is trying to make sense of all that has happened in his life when a certain platinum haired goddess drops by to turn everything upside down.
1. Chapter 1

Reflections Through Time  
Chapter One, The Backstory 

by Lionheart

Author's Rant:

First, I would like to start off by saying that, in my opinion, there are so many time travel stories in Harry Potter fanfiction for one simple reason - Rowling has written a situation that is completely FUBAR. The situation, as it stands, cannot be pulled out of at this point without resorting to Super-Harry or time travel, or diverging at a much earlier point into an alternate universe.

HBP was the final slap in the face that convinced me that Rowling was just writing to abuse her main character, that she enjoys torturing him for the sick sort of amusement you get by pulling the wings off flies. In the official series, it doesn't matter if Voldemort kills Harry or vice versa, the Dark has already triumphed.

That said, before she went and crapped all over it, she'd started out with a decent premise and a situation that had loads of possibilities. And that being the case, if you can ignore what Rowling is befouling on her end, there are still games that can be played in that sandbox.

Disclaimer: It all still belongs to her.

Warning! Dumbledore bashing! But after I've done beating him like a rug I do my best to retrieve that character from the pothole Rowling threw him in.

On a related note, the story starts fairly dark and heavy before it lightens up. But the aim is for a fairly lighthearted tone overall.

* * *

Harry stood at a window, staring out at a rainy Georgia night, the TV flickering on some show in the background, and sighed.

Twenty six. How did that happen?

Well, actually, he knew quite well how that had happened, and all of those times it nearly stopped happening, those close brushes with death that seemed to shave off bits of him as they got closer and closer on each occasion.

Getting out of school after his sixth year he'd really intended to go hunting horcruxes, he really did. But on a routine supply run to Diagon Alley he'd paused to see what speech the Minister was giving after rumors of a ruckus at his house the night before. The Minister had turned to see Harry approach the edge of the crowd and given a smirk Harry'd seen on only one face before.

Harry didn't know how he knew it, but in a bolt of inspiration as had struck him so often in his youth he'd known in that instant that wasn't the Minister of Magic. That Voldemort had ordered a replacing of the Minister the same way that Crouch Jr had done to Moody in his fourth year of school, and somehow he'd known that was Lucius Malfoy staring out from behind the Minister's face before the crowds that day.

Harry hadn't even put any thought into his reaction at all, he'd run.

Oh, he'd never at the time thought that he'd be leaving for good, he hadn't thought about much of anything except escape, really. But he hadn't stopped running until he was all of the way out of England, and ever since then had not been able to convince himself to return.

Oh, he'd shared his suspicions with Ron and Hermione of course. But around that year they'd stopped believing him and didn't give any credit to his wild assertions. Figuring that if he couldn't get his two closest friends to believe him, no one else would, Harry hadn't even bothered to tell The Quibbler after that.

Now he wished he had, of course. Not that it likely would have changed anything.

With Dumbledore dead and Voldemort in control of the Ministry through his agents, replacing any Wizengamot members he couldn't bribe, Britain obviously fell fully under the Dark Lord's control.

At first they'd passed laws and regulations to make it that Pureblood Utopia that his followers had always dreamed of, ensuring that country got intolerable for anyone else and resulting in mass executions at first conducted in secret, then later publicly. The trouble for Voldemort was he'd never stopped the killings, it all just sort of ran out of control. Anyone who disagreed with him, Pureblood or not, got Dementor kissed. Having the wrong parents was punishable by death, never mind that he needed some people to run the flower shops and ice cream parlors. Not everybody could be in the top echelons of government. If they wanted a society to rule over it had to have someone in it to be ruled.

No, Voldemort just ordered them all killed. By his new restrictions, even Voldemort's own ancestry was worthy of death. But, naturally, he concealed those damning facts about his unworthy parentage from his followers.

And that became the norm in England for a time, people hiring people to forge the required documents, ancestry records and pedigree charts to 'prove' they were as pure as the Malfoys. Ironically, that ended when Lucius Malfoy was revealed to have a squib as one of his grandfathers and got publicly executed the next day.

That led to a mass exodus from England and the British Isles overnight.

Naturally, those black-as-tar Ministry officials fleeing at last had to have a scapegoat, a reason for why they'd been serving the Dark Lord in his reign of terror and brutal purging of half of the magical population of the kingdom. So, to excuse their own murders, they took the same handy excuse that had served them so well for years and claimed that it was all Harry's fault.

Between the air of panic that prevailed over the collapse of a magical government and the abandonment of an entire kingdom to what at last got revealed as a ruling Dark Lord and the persuasive lies of those career politicians escaping Voldemort's new purges, Harry had gotten arrested, pending a trial that never happened.

Oh, the American government meant well. They'd responded in force, attacking the entrenched Voldemort and driving him out of the halls of government and back into hiding. But in reclaiming England they'd also restored the British Magical Government, and they'd assembled it out of those people they had on hand - namely the ones who'd held posts under Voldemort's rule, then fled, only to save their own hides by claiming Harry was to blame for everything.

Naturally, as a British citizen, Harry had gotten handed over to the newly restored British Ministry of Magic as a gesture of goodwill and respect to shore up the fledgling government, and just as quickly Harry'd gotten thrown into a cell at Azkaban by guilty men hoping he'd disappear and be forgotten so their own crimes would never be revealed.

It had worked, for a while.

Later, Harry was unsure of the details as he'd been out of circulation at the time, the British Ministry had gotten taken over again. Maybe it had happened at once, perhaps it had taken a while, but Voldemort got control back. Once it'd gotten revealed that he was killing people again only a handful of survivors had been left to greet the returning American Auror forces. Official figures said that perhaps one percent of magical Britain had survived the Dark Lord's second return, with all the rages, purges and random excuses to kill people, and ironically half of those survivors had been in Azkaban, which the Dark Lord seemed to have forgotten. Official speculation was that he'd gotten too caught up in securing his hold on power, and that his paranoid and suspicious mind had been so focused on finding traitors (even where there were none) that he'd never stopped intently watching for twitches of disloyalty to punish among his followers, and thus never went on to other things.

Personally, Harry thought that didn't sound too much like the Voldemort he knew, but had to admit he didn't have any better theory about Death Eater loyalty. He'd been too busy rotting in his cell to know what was going on in the outside world all that time, so had no information to base counter-speculation on concerning his enemy's followers.

The one thing he did know for sure was information he'd gotten through his scar. Now, he'd learned long ago how to block out Voldemort's manipulation and sever those parts of the link that made him experience the torture of others. He'd have gone insane at seventeen otherwise. But they did still get flashes of each other's character from time to time. So Voldemort knew that Harry was powerless and miserable, so could be ignored, while Harry knew that Tom Riddle Jr had a great big hole inside of his soul, and Voldemort could only forget his own incompleteness during moments of murder, torture or robbery on a large scale - and the more he did of it, the larger that scale had to be in order for Voldemort to get a moment of respite from his own self inflicted agony.

He could never kill enough or steal enough or hurt others enough to fill the hole in his own soul, but during those times he was causing untold suffering to others he could forget his own pain for a few moments.

So he killed others mostly to escape his own personal hell, one that he'd created by the very dark rituals that kept him alive and gave him his power.

Alive, yet trapped in the hellish prison that had become his mind.

That was probably why Voldemort left Britain, after sucking it dry, and moved on to mainland Europe. Reports of deaths there made it seem like England had been merely a training camp for the Dark Lord's execution squads. And, Harry was certain, when he had run out of convenient people to kill in Europe he'd move on to America or somewhere else, using the same tactics of Imperious curse acquired moles and agents as well as the more dangerous Polyjuice substitution of officials in government to gain control before his Death Eaters started their mass torture and executions.

Tom would use those tactics for as long as they continued to work, and so far they were working out for him quite well. Blind panic had gripped the world and the only thing that gave Tom any pause was having to recruit new followers after one attempt or another by a government to stop him had thinned their ranks a little. But desperate, stupid people were flocking to Voldemort's side in the vain hopes that it would spare them some of his cruelty.

No. Harry knew from long and personal observation that Voldemort used more of the Unforgivable curses on his own followers than he did on his enemies.

Actually, as far as joining sides went, Harry couldn't think of any he'd want to be on in this whole conflict. Privately he'd taken to calling it The War of Three Dark Lords. Dark Lord One was obviously the Dark Slytherin Voldemort. Dark Lord Two was the Dark Minister. It didn't even seem to matter which Minister, or which country either, they were all so corrupt it didn't seem to matter. The magical government was always so horrible in their treatment of him, and shortsighted in their actions in general, they easily counted as destructive enough to equal any other Dark Lord, in his opinion.

That left the third.

Like the Dark Minister, the one holding the spot of the third Dark Lord was not the first one to hold that position and title. The first one to hold the final seat in this three way war had been defeated long ago, but his agents still carried on in his legacy, and a new person now held the crown of leadership in that faction.

Harry felt a bit guilty about doing it, but he'd long since labeled the third party in this war as the Dark Headmaster, and the original one to hold that title had been Dumbledore.

As he'd said, Harry still occasionally felt a bit guilty about that label, after all he'd met the man (when he still lived) and Dumbledore always gave the impression of someone who was earnestly trying to do what he felt was right. On the other hand, after careful examination he had yet to discover any decision that old man had made on his behalf that hadn't caused Harry hurt, sorrow, anguish and death.

In the first place, it had been Dumbledore who'd instructed his parents to go into hiding behind a Fidelius charm. While possibly sound from some perspectives, the end of months of examining this from every angle had left Harry with only a few facts: when his parents had been openly fighting they'd each faced Voldemort personally three times and escaped all three times. Once they'd gone into hiding they'd dropped their guard and been murdered almost at once in the first encounter.

Perhaps the blame didn't lie with Dumbledore. That could be debated. But the more actions of his Harry counted up the thinner and thinner the 'well-meaning mistake' excuse wore. Because the second intervention of the old man in his life had been to take him from his godfather, a legally and morally questionable act because the entire role of godfather was to take care of a child in the event that the parents are gone (and Sirius had not yet had his infamous duel with Pettigrew or gotten framed by that point).

Harry's take on his godfather's character was that he never would've gone after Peter if he'd been allowed to take responsibility of Harry in the first place. So by that act the old headmaster had sent his father's best friend to Azkaban, at least theoretically.

Both of those were questionable, and Harry'd debated over them long and hard before reluctantly concluding that he had no proof, only conjecture, and that either of those choices could have gone either way.

However, there was no question about Dumbledore's choice to send him to live with the Dursleys. They'd hated him and treated him so badly anyone caring for a DOG so poorly could be jailed in any civilized country! And Dumbledore had been spying on him all along while he'd lived on Privet Drive, through Arabella Figg. Mrs. Figg had even admitted as much, then TOLD Harry, direct and to his face, that she'd had to make him hate his visits to her house or else the Dursleys would never have let him come over.

So she knew. There wasn't any possible way she COULDN'T have known about his treatment there if she'd out-and-out admitted to having to adjust her behavior a certain way to continue operating in spite of the Dursley's open prejudices against him. If she'd had to adjust her behavior to be allowed to baby-sit him despite the Dursley's prejudices, she knew about those prejudices. And knowing how they felt about him she'd had to have been a piss-poor spy not to go from knowing their feelings to investigating their actions. It defied all logical sense to say that she didn't know that the Dursleys abused him.

Now, the purpose of any spy was to uncover information and pass that along to whoever hired them, and so if Mrs. Arabella Figg knew about his abused childhood, then Dumbledore knew. He had to have known all along, as his spy was in place almost as soon as Harry himself was. So, as she was there to keep an eye on him, she probably knew about the mistreatment when he was still small before it had grown into full abuse.

Actually, there was logical evidence there as well. If Mrs Figg had messed up even once, caring for Harry too openly or allowing him to enjoy a visit, then the Dursleys never would have let him go over again. She'd said as much herself. So either Arabella had never slipped up, meaning she knew full well about what would happen if she'd treated him too nicely, or she had slipped up once or possibly twice and had some active witch or wizard (almost certainly Dumbledore himself) over to perform a few memory charms to erase the slip-up from their minds. In that latter case, it was even MORE certain they knew about the Dursley's antagonism and bias against Harry.

So there wasn't any logical way around it. By the facts at Harry's disposal there was no other conclusion to draw but that Dumbledore had known full well what the Dursleys had done to him, how they'd treated him, and done nothing about it.

No, worse than nothing. He'd actively prevented anyone else from knowing about his sorry state, purposely preventing anyone else from saving him or disturbing that horrid abuse he'd suffered, making sure it continued for the longest possible time.

That made Dumbledore responsible.

By any law Harry knew of, those acts of hatred the Dursleys had done to him were crimes, some with fearsome punishments. Dumbledore had put him there, so despite any question of the legality of that act, he'd shared some responsibility for what happened to Harry there. Being ignorant was a small excuse, but he couldn't have been ignorant of his situation, not with what his spy had already admitted. So there was another mark against any plea of innocence on the part of his once Headmaster. Decent citizens are supposed to report crimes of child abuse to be investigated, and he hadn't.

No, what Dumbledore had done was cover them up, and by helping the Dursleys to conceal to continue to perpetrate those crimes, Dumbledore was an accomplice at the very least, if not a conspirator.

As far as Harry was concerned, Dumbledore was just as much to blame for the inhuman treatment he'd received, the SLAVERY he'd suffered under, as were the Dursleys who'd inflicted it all on him.

Why? Because he could've stopped it at any point.

He was the head of the Wizengamot, the magical court system. He'd had the ear of the then-present Minister of Magic all that time. He'd been up to his neck in legal authority and contacts and never once had he used any portion of that to improve Harry's situation or stop the unnecessary suffering and humiliation he'd been under all that time.

Harry could understand why, at least in theory. Those thrice-blasted blood wards and their supposed protection. If anyone ever investigated the Dursleys for their inhuman treatment of him Harry would've been removed from their care in an instant. That hadn't happened, so obviously either no one had investigated or Albus had somehow put a stop to any reaction to his circumstances. In the latter case, he'd probably also had to have destroyed certain records and performed memory charms because no one in the magical world, in or out of the Ministry, seemed to have any idea that Harry was being treated any less well then they would've done themselves - and nothing was too good for their hero. Magical people would have raised him like a prince, so magical people always assumed that whoever'd raised him had done exactly as they would've.

What Harry couldn't understand was how a blood-ward, supposedly based upon love, could prosper in an environment of open hatred.

And what was worst about that was there were dozens if not hundreds of ways that it could've been worked out to have Harry treated decently AND still maintain the blood wards. The Dursleys were bullies, every one of them, and all bullies were cowards at heart. All it would've taken would've been a few threats, a visit from one of the many aurors the Headmaster had in his pocket, a minor compulsion spell, a few words in the right ears to let the Dursleys know that others, even muggles, were watching! Something, ANYTHING to let them know they weren't going to get away with it, and they'd have had to tone it down some. There was even proof of this, in that when his first Hogwarts letters started to arrive, addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, Petunia and Vernon had had a whispered conversation in which they discussed their fears of wizards watching the house, and their response had been to move him to the smallest bedroom!

They had already proved that they would have caved in to the smallest pressure. A mere word here or there could have vastly improved Harry's living conditions!

That nothing was done was criminal. No more, and no less than a crime.

Harry'd pursued thousands of different conjectures, from subtle legal pressure to a word of warning to the neighbors, up to having Harry AND Dudley taken away and given to some sane family, as he'd thought over this, seeking for ways his life could have been made better.

And it would've been so easy!

Dudley was his mother's son, and the nephew of Lily Evans. He had his mother's blood in him, so he also had the blood of Lily Potter. Taking both he and Dudley away to be raised by someone else would've worked. It would've stopped the abuse and still kept up the blood wards. Even the THREAT to take both him and Dudley would've cowed the Dursleys and made them approach something like decent treatment of him!

No, there were ways that Albus Dumbledore could've improved that situation, most of them easy and at minimal risk of even the slightest negative effects, without even any real danger of breaking that secrecy he'd so cherished.

The fact remained that he had done nothing.

For that, Harry could not forgive him. Nor was that the last of the Dark Headmaster's offenses against him. Harry had never once been allowed alone with his own money, had never been permitted to shop unsupervised, was tightly controlled both at home and at school, was put under virtual house arrest every summer, and in all other ways reduced to the Headmaster's sock-puppet as much as possible. But all of that he could've lived with if that had actually meant getting any special training for his future. Even a simple warning to get ready would have been nice.

Instead, the Headmaster had kept him blissfully ignorant.

Damn him!

But Snape was the final straw. Once more, there was no way that Dumbledore could have avoided knowing how that man had treated him - they'd both read his mind often enough!

And speaking of mind reading, Snape knew, he KNEW that Harry wasn't pampered or spoiled, that he wasn't attention-seeking or a glory hound, yet he called him all of those names anyway. He'd begun abusing Harry from that first class together, long before Harry himself could've given the man any excuse to dislike him, and that was the final straw as far as Harry was concerned.

It was enough that the Headmaster had ruined his childhood. It was magnified by his having kept a tight leash on Harry's movements so he didn't know anyone out of school that Dumbledore did not control, and that he'd kept him locked up every summer. But it all came to a final head in that the Headmaster kept Snape at school, and by so doing ensured that Harry could not recall a single day of his life where he wasn't being abused or subject to the very real danger of being abused more.

Potions classes were bad enough, but every time he met Snape in a hallway, or ran into him on the grounds, there was more of it. Every chance he got it was ridicule and unfair treatment, harsh phrases and behavior that should have gotten any normal teacher fired and blacklisted for life.

But once more the abuser had Dumbledore's unfailing support and protection.

No, Harry had led a life of hardship, sorrow, misery and death and the person pulling all of the strings to arrange it that way over all of his growing-up years was Dumbledore. Because of him, Harry'd never lived a day without fear, not that he could recall.

He had earned his title as the Dark Headmaster.

What Harry couldn't understand was how well-meaning that old man had seemed, the few times he'd talked to him in person. He'd seen him, on average, once or twice a year and always there was that air of a kindly grandfather.

Either the man was a consummate actor and a black-hearted scoundrel, or one of the most self-deceived men he had ever met, always making the stupidest level of mistakes and doing them over and over again. Neither image made any sense to him.

But the man was no longer alive to ask.

Shrugging, Harry once again resigned himself to the fact that the ultimate question of why Dumbledore had done what he had done would remain unresolved, and turned away from the window, heading back into the simply furnished room. Thunder boomed in the storm outside as he refreshed his drink, a mug of cocoa from a pot he kept warm on the stove. The chocolate taste still did much to wash away the terrors of Azkaban.

Azkaban.

He'd spent seven years of his life there, locked away on accusation alone and held there by the very men who'd accused him to cover their own crimes. They'd taken him from Auror school, too. That had a strange sort of irony.

He'd been nineteen at the time they'd arrested him. His teacher had even used the opportunity as a training exercise for the rest of the class, too. "A wanted criminal has been discovered in your midst. Apprehend him!" Then he'd given Harry's name, as if chosen at random. It was only after he'd been defeated and bound that he revealed this wasn't just another exercise, and they wouldn't be letting Harry go.

That teacher had died in one of those counter-invasions of Britain. Good riddance.

The dripping stone walls and damp of Azkaban had taught him something of interest however. None of his life had been happy enough for him to forget. Oh, there'd been a few moments here or there. He could no longer recall the day he'd learned he was a wizard or the subsequent trip to Diagon Alley. The trip across Hogwarts lake was lost to him, but over seven years exposed to the Dementors and all he'd lost was a few weeks, in total, of memories. That in itself was a sad statement about his life.

The saddest thing was now, having no happy memories, he could no longer cast a Patronus. But that hadn't been required of him, either.

"Sulking again?"

A thin grin. "You know it, Hermione."

The ghost of his best friend floated into the room from the pantry, where the box of her remaining personal belongings got stored. The scars of how horrible a death she'd died were thankfully hidden by the folds of her robe. In that, she had surprising control for a ghost, as those bloody rags she'd died in wouldn't have covered a flea, and she maintained an image of her unmarked face in spite of the flesh having been removed before she died and hung over Draco Malfoy's fireplace for years as a trophy - even after the Malfoy line had been exterminated by Voldemort shortly after her demise.

But in its own way it was hardly surprising. She'd been a great witch, now she was equally great as a ghost.

"I thought that after getting out of Azkaban you'd change."

"I may be less insane, then again I may not." He sipped from his cup, warming his hands as he stared out at the rain. "Give it time, it's only been a few days."

"I worry about you," she confessed.

"I'd worry about me too, but I don't. Insanity has it's privileges, I guess."

"You're NOT insane!" she insisted for the umpteenth time.

"Of course I am! What else are you supposed to be after spending seven years, two months, and eleven days under lock and key subjected to the Dementors of Azkaban? I only learned I was twenty-six yesterday, in spite of having been that old for months."

Hermione, bless her, still retained the image of nineteen, the age she'd died as. No small feat to have lived that long as a muggleborn who'd stayed in Britain. She had to have been one of the last who died before the Second Great Exodus of Magical Britain.

It was so odd what they put in history books now.

"You can't be insane, you are perfectly rational," her ghost insisted.

He grinned by way of reply. "Ah, my dear and beautiful friend, there are many types of insanity. There is obsession, for example. I might be that." Conversations like this one had been his meat and drink for all of those years of prison.

For once, Hermione did not rise to the bait, turning away, but not before he saw her face begin to fade, revealing the horrible wounds on the bare skull, inflicted as torture before they killed her. Her robe suddenly became patchy.

He caught her sob, only then did he realize his mistake.

Putting down his cup he shook his head, moving over to where he could place his arms around her. She wasn't solid, he had to hold them in place where they ought to be, but it was the closest he could give the ghost to a hug. And, as Nearly Headless Nick had told them so long ago, there was something, not much, but something to the touch.

His arms were cold, chilled by her presence, as he apologized, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't realize. It was thoughtless. Forgive me?"

What he'd done was remind her of lazy, gluttonous, slovenly, jealous and superficial Ron with his pigheaded self-absorption that bordered on obsession.

She and Ronald Weasley had been in a relationship when Harry'd fled Britain. They had continued to search for horcruxes for a time, until it became obvious that Voldemort had moved them all to more secretive and secure locations than his old childhood haunts.

All of that effort had been on Hermione's drive, of course.

Looking back it should have been obvious how poorly those two were matched. Ron was lazy where Hermione was hard working. He was greedy and she was thrifty. He made messes everywhere while she was always neat and clean. Ron saw nothing wrong with himself whereas she sought constant improvement. But worse yet they couldn't stand each other's favorite hobbies. He hated to study and she loved nothing more, while on the other hand he obsessed over Quidditch and she could hardly care less about the game.

In short, they had nothing in common except a friendship with Harry.

They'd discovered that themselves shortly after he'd gone. But Ron had kept after her even after Hermione started growing cold towards him. Harry could understand why, Hermione was in many ways Ron's ideal wife. If he'd managed to catch her she would've cooked and cleaned and done all of the work of running a household in addition to having a career, supporting her husband while leaving Ron to sit on his lazy ass and watch Quidditch games, complaining about how she ought to do more and getting mad at her for nagging him. All Ron would've had to do would be to keep her pregnant so she wouldn't leave him, for fear of hurting her children.

Thankfully, they'd never gone that far. Hermione had wised up to his friend a bit too early for Ronald's taste, so he'd never gotten anywhere near first base.

Thank goodness for Hermione's prim attitude.

In all honesty, he had to admit that his first real friend was alot more like Lockhart than anyone had realized at the time. Ron got jealous of anyone who'd accomplished more than he had, but he was too lazy to achieve anything on his own. He could so very easily see Ronald Weasley taking the credit for something another had done, after obliviating the poor fool who'd told him about how he'd done it.

But the worst thing about a Ron and Hermione match was that she would inevitably accomplish something, and he'd never be able to forgive her for outshining him. The seeds of that had been obvious from their first year together, and his jealousy over Harry.

That was probably why Ron had betrayed her to death.

Nothing more needed to be said on that subject.

Sighing, Harry mimed rubbing her shoulders while Hermione tried to get her appearance in order, patches of robe appearing and disappearing under his hands as she tried to reassert control over her manifestation.

This tender moment was interrupted by the entrance of two more ghosts.

Both came to a stop before entering further into the room, considering the scene before them. Luna and Ginny were probably the most different people he knew. Luna had quite calmly told Voldemort to his face that she'd rather be strangled with her own intestines than serve him, and he had obliged her. Ginny, on the other hand, had pledged support, volunteering to breed a new generation of Purebloods if he'd spare her, then snuck the man she'd been assigned as concubine to sterility and impotence potions before the big night, hoping he'd be too ashamed to confess to inability before his Dark Lord.

She'd been wrong on that gamble.

Her reward for this deception had been to die, impaled on an iron spike. It had taken her seven full days to die. For all that it had taken more bravery at the time, Luna had gotten off easily by comparison.

These three ghosts had joined him in Azkaban after he'd been sent there. Without ability to lift the wards, they'd been stuck there beside him ever since, until his release a few days ago. Frankly, their company had been worth more than anything else to him at the time, and still remained so.

"Harry, it's that time," Luna informed him dreamily, intestines worn about her throat as calmly as if they were a scarf.

He double-blinked as Ginny floated forward a few feet, noticing that Hermione was rapidly reestablishing herself under his icy chilled palms. "What am I forgiving you for this time? Is it the anniversary of your submitting to Voldemort again?"

Ginny had never taken the mark. Those had been reserved for proven followers by that point. Having died as a betrayer, however, she was a very unhappy ghost unless she got forgiven earnestly and often. So far Harry'd forgiven her regularly of everything she'd ever done, from the serious crime of bowing to the enemy all the way down to the trivial pranks she'd played on her family growing up, and everything she could think of in between - during years she had been busily spent remembering.

"No," Ginny's spirit confessed, then blurted out, "Harry, I gave you love potions during your sixth year so you'd notice me!"

"I know, and I forgive you," that was an old one, oft repeated.

"I also made out with other men, trying to get you jealous."

"I know, you are forgiven," this one too.

"I wet the bed once when I was fourteen!"

A bit less common, but one he'd heard before. "That's all behind you now. I forgive you."

"I peeped on Ronald's pee pee when I was four!"

Harry winced. As often as he heard some things it didn't make him want to hear them any more. But his smile didn't falter as he earnestly said, "I forgive you. As a matter of curiosity, however, you've confessed to that one each day since we got out of prison. Is there a reason you'd like to share?"

Ghosts could blush silver, she did so. "I've been looking at yours every day for seven years, two months, and thirteen days. I like it better."

"Yes, it is." Luna dreamily replied, catching both off guard.

Surprised that he could still be surprised, Harry blushed. "Uhm, thank you. You're forgiven, both of you."

"No forgiveness is necessary, we both intend to keep doing it," Luna smiled with a far off gaze, stroking her intestine scarf as she stared out the window.

Chortles from Hermione brought his attention back to see she had reasserted herself and he removed his now-frozen hands, going into the kitchen to wash them in warm water. Paralyzed by this turn of conversation, he noted rather dryly the television set flaring up to a brilliant flash of energy before a pair of well-tanned feet emerged from the screen.

A platinum-haired bombshell stepped out of his TV and, with a casual "Hiya kiddo," went to pour herself a drink at the wetbar.

"That's poisoned."

He didn't know why he'd said that, but seeing her pause and stare at him, he decided to elaborate. "I don't drink, but many of my enemies do. I stocked a wetbar on the assumption that if any of them broke in and actually captured me for torture they'd celebrate with a drink, and seeing them die with bloody, frothy lungs would give me a chance to get clear, grab a wand and escape."

The woman put her half-filled glass down untasted and turned her back on the bar, leaning back against it and resting her elbows on that level surface.

Harry shrugged, finding a reason to justify this warning even as he warmed his hands in the water. "I just got out of Azkaban on a false charge. I don't want to go back on a real one."

The woman straightened herself, walking past the ghosts to lean over the kitchen counter. Her outfit was both exotic and sexy, a dry and dispassionate corner of his mind noted even as he searched her for weapons or a wand, finding neither.

He had no wand himself at the moment. They hadn't actually gotten around yet to clearing his name enough to allow him to buy one. In fact, he was officially still awaiting trial. Without a wand, and with a ruined body, there had seemed small point in getting all excited at her entrance. If she'd been there to kill him there was little he could do about it, not when he moved like an eighty year old man with arthritis.

So he allowed her approach, figuring there was little he could do about it.

"My name's Urd," she told him, pointing toward his nose. "Goddess second class, second category, limited license. Norn of the Past and Goddess of love, and you've got a pure heart, kiddo. That means you're eligible for a wish, and I got sent to give one to you. You can have anything you want, but the rules say you only get one. What will it be?"

End, Part One


	2. Chapter 2

Reflections Through Time  
Chapter Two 

by Lionheart

Author's Rant:  
An original beginning in a Harry Potter fanfic is almost too much to ask for. There are a couple, it's true, but hardly worth the search for them.

However, cliches can be such pretty baubles it's nice to play with them from time to time. To take them out of their aged bag and see if you can't arrange them in a new pattern, like trying to paint. One doesn't ask for original colors, there are only so many, dispensed in mass-marketed tubes. However, in their arrangement there is art.

There is also a pattern, a tradition to the genre, like a guitar riff in rock. One doesn't have to ask if it is there, only what form it takes, and if this one displayed anything that stood out to recommend it, and a hopeful 'was it brief?' It is the obligatory first chapter of setup, telling you how this world differs, if it does at all, and of course showing you how miserable Harry is (Rowling does it in every book, so it wouldn't be true to the creator if we did not). But, like breaking through a candy shell to get to the gooey goodness inside, after that's out of the way hopefully the actual story should commence.

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the books is Rowling's, of course. Anything you recognize from fanfiction is cliche, and anything you recognize from fever dreams is your own problem.

----

"My name's Urd," she told him, pointing toward his nose. "Goddess second class, second category, limited license. Norn of the Past and Goddess of love, and you've got a pure heart, kiddo. That means you're eligible for a wish, and I got sent to give one to you. You can have anything you want, but the rules say you only get one. What will it be?"

----

"When Ron was six he discovered his pee pee and went showing it to everyone in the neighborhood." Luna answered Hermione's whispered question at full normal voice, as if this hadn't been asked of her in secret. Then she restated, "I like Harry's much better. It reminds me of fog."

"Fog?" Hermione couldn't help but blink at the non sequitur. One got more used to them around Luna, but still!

"Yes, the way it fills up empty spaces and makes shadows of great trees."

Ginny and Hermione both blushed silver, not certain they'd caught Luna's meaning, but able to conjure up sufficient dirty images on their own from the description.

Urd stared at the trio of ghosts in shock for a moment before turning back to business so she could get out of this place.

She didn't like being here.

Around Keiichi and her sister she was able to frolic, full of mischief. There was no mischief here. In fact, this boy had been beaten like a drum by Fate, and as one of the Norns she felt partially responsible. That caused any normal good humor she might have felt to evaporate and made her want to get this over with so she could go home and get roaring drunk.

She'd have been drinking here, but the kid had poisoned his wetbar!

"Listen, kid..."

Urd was interrupted once more, this time by Luna leaning in to clasp Harry's face between her ghostly hands, clasp her freezing lips on his nose, and begin sucking greedily. "SCHLERK! SNORK! SCHHLLLECHW!!"

The goddess blinked in surprise, then spoke, pointing to the ghost, "An ectoplasmic infusion? How did SHE learn that snot and ectoplasm are practically the same thing?"

"Fog also allows the moon to howl back at the dogs at night," Luna mentioned, as if no one had spoken since she last did, meanwhile floating over to the sink and beginning to lift pans in her ghostly hands, filling one with water and putting it on to boil on the stove.

Harry, for his part, was taking Urd's appearance in stride. Not from any idea who she was, but he'd more or less gotten used to wizards doing things in odd ways, like traveling by fireplaces, and at first he'd taken her as doing some form of that. Her later introduction as a Goddess was no more strange to him than learning magic existed, or so he reasoned.

On the other hand, it was difficult to be haunted by the ghost of Luna Lovegood and not build up considerable resistance to the weird or unusual. Frankly, he took this as even more proof that he was insane.

Then again, sometimes he just felt too tired to get shocked by anything. He was certainly too weak to do much about it if he did. He was a pale and fragile shadow of the boy he once was, his health and body broken by his imprisonment.

"Do you really know what's going on?" Hermione floated by to ask before leaning in to capture Harry's nose between her lips and sucking greedily herself, obviously still listening for an answer.

"Well..." Urd blinked. SNEERRRK! "It's..." SLURRP! Her eye twitched, "kinda..." SNORK!! "Will you cut that out!" she shouted.

"Sorry," Hermione released Harry's frozen nose. "But it's the only way we can do things around the house." She pouted, "or much of anything but float around, really."

"That's really the point," Urd corrected. "Ghosts are those who have passed on, there are rules against them having too great an effect on mortal affairs, so most are frozen in ability where they aren't able to do much. That's on purpose. The exception is that each is given a very limited supply of ectoplasm. Those who learn how to use it can manipulate things on the mortal plane. But most ghosts can't generate more than a trickle every few centuries. It's more of a punishment than anything, an encouragement to move on. What I want to know is how you three stumbled on it. The mucus relationship to ectoplasm is a loophole that's kept secret, one not even demons are allowed to let out."

"We picked it up from Luna." Hermione wiped her lips, then delicately licked a trailing bit of something from the end of Harry's nose.

"Quibbler, issue 38," spoke the ghost who was now cooking dinner.

"Well," Urd allowed, grudgingly folding her arms across her chest. "I won't report you so long as this secret doesn't spread any further. Now could we get back to Harry's wish?" Her phone rang, interrupting once again. "Hang on a second." The goddess reached into her pocket to pull out a cell, after listening on it for a few seconds she closed the phone and shouted at Luna. "There was nothing about ectoplasm in issue 38 of the Quibbler!"

"No, of course not. I never said there was," Luna blinked at the goddess dreamily. "There is, however, an excellent article on knee-biting vegetables, and this rutabaga reminds me of one." She held up the root in question.

"Then where did you find out about the ectoplasm relationship to mucus?" the irate goddess demanded.

"Oh, that was suggested in the muggle film Ghostbusters, and I thought I'd try it out. It worked."

Ginny blinked. "Luna, are you feeling okay? That was unusually lucid for you."

"Be nice," Hermione scolded.

"Ghosts can also spend large amounts of ectoplasm to acquire permanent abilities." Luna casually informed the room. "But as we were only locked in with Harry there was little point in acquiring a corrupting gaze or hideous laugh to drive him insane."

"So you got telekinesis?" Urd blinked, taken aback.

"Is that one of them?" Luna paused still, then closed her eyes. A moment later one of the cooking utensils flew to her hand and she opened her eyes, smiling. "Yes, it is. Thank you very much."

"Are you going to wish or aren't you?" Urd rounded on the young man, intent on getting this job over with before they tricked any more classified information out of her. She was going to suffer for letting that bit about TK slip, she knew it. But she'd thought they already knew about it, considering what they already did.

"Uh, sure," Harry blinked, surprised at her glare. He turned to his friends, asking them, "What should I wish for?"

"How about you bringing us back to life?" Ginny asked hopefully.

Harry considered. That was a good one. He pondered a bit before adding, "That's a good one, but I was more thinking of saving the world from Voldemort. It's a pity I only get one wish."

"Actually Harry," Hermione interrupted. "You could achieve both of those together. She just introduced herself as a Goddess of the Past, am I right? You could wish for all of us to go back in time so you could relive your life over again knowing what you do now! That way we could stop Voldemort before he became unstoppable, and none of us would have died!" She sparkled excitedly, floating an extra few feet off the floor as she did so.

"That sounds good, I wish for that," Harry agreed.

"Fine," Urd nodded, glad to have that over with, transmitting the wish as spoken up to Heaven, resulting in the usual beam of light and objects floating around the room as she opened the divine passage over the sacred send and receive link. Resettling at last once that was done, she stated:

"Wish approved."

The boy was astonished to find himself that moment wet and naked in the arms of a giant bigger than Hagrid's brother, being handed over to a sweaty and exhausted giant woman laying on a table.

That scene snapped into context when he heard the next words uttered, "Congratulations, Mrs. Potter. It's a boy."

He began squalling in confusion and joy all at once.

----

A return to birth form can be odd, to say the least.

For one thing, Harry was a complete, whole adult compacted down into the body of a brand new baby. That required some rather drastic adjustments all on its own. If he'd had any exposure to computer related talk, he might've compared it to having been subjected to file compression software and transformed into a self-extracting archive. Everything was there, all of his knowledge and abilities and what have you, the only problem was most of it was unusable. The body of a newborn babe is equipped really to do only one thing, and that is grow, so that other capabilities could be uncompressed and brought online.

Other newborns had to do a great deal of testing as those abilities got brought out of storage to get them functioning, but that's getting ahead of ourselves.

On the day of his arrival, Harry was busy dealing with the physical trauma associated with his own birth. Thankfully, he'd get over that just fine, as most newborns do. His parents were excited, but also exhausted, and what exhaustion his mother went through that his father escaped, James more than made up for celebrating with his friends.

What no one seemed to notice was the conversation going on between three ghosts, not presently manifested enough for mortals to see them.

"Why aren't we alive?" Ginny demanded, gazing around St. Mungo's.

"I should think you and I haven't been born yet," Luna offered, circumstance having brought her a fraction more in touch with her surroundings, yet that didn't stop her from idly examining the dancing mobile hanging above Harry's crib with unusual intensity.

"But then why is Hermione here? She's almost a year older than Harry!" Ginny protested, irate and not understanding their circumstances at all.

"I'm afraid that's probably my fault." Hermione pouted. "I was offering a suggestion, instead Harry used that as his official wish before I'd had a chance to polish it up a bit. What happened is fairly simple, I think. When we wished, it was for 'us' to go back in time, so 'Harry' could live his life over again. I should have been so much more careful about the wording."

"You mean... we might not get to return to life?" Ginny found herself about to cry.

Hermione nodded, on the verge of tears herself.

Luna appeared increasingly fascinated with the baby toy she was observing, using little bursts of TK to spin the mobile around, with no apparent reaction to their predicament at all as the other pair of ghosts burst into tears and wailed, attempting to hug each other with insubstantial hands that passed right through each other's bodies.

Luna put up with this for about a minute, but before the others could really hit their stride (ghosts could lose all track of time, and given a sufficient emotional burden could lose themselves to it for geologic ages), managed to disrupt them both out of their funk by the simple expedient of latching onto baby Harry's nose and beginning to suck him dry. The infant immediately woke up and started to cry, before stopping almost at once.

It was still Harry in there, and he recognized that sensation.

You put up with alot to have good company in a place like Azkaban, and little indignities like that were inconsequential when it was the only way to get cupped handfuls of freezing water brought to your cell to supplement the meager daily ration. Discarded bits of the guards' meals were heaven, reducing one of the many pains of imprisonment, and the reason Harry hadn't been starved to emaciation when the Minister ordered him put on half rations upon his incarceration. Every day he blessed the stoat pies one wife sent with her husband and that guard never ate, being allergic to stoat and yet unable to bring himself to tell his wife he didn't treasure her mother's recipe. Pies that his ghostly friends had retrieved from the dustbin and brought him religiously, each day. Those pies had had good, thick crusts that survived being binned, and made it to his cell almost intact, and sometimes even warm (where ghostly hands hadn't gripped them). Scraps of cloth, bits of rag and thread had also been scavenged, and those (along with a needle carved from bone) had become quilts for bedding, pants and jackets to escape the constant cold.

Little services like those had even caused him to forget all of the anger he'd once felt at Ginny not long after arriving there. So when he forgave her, he'd earnestly meant it each and every time. Of course, with Luna and Hermione there was nothing to forgive, and he'd grown fonder of them than any other being... err, alive, with Ginny a not-so distant third.

Their happiness was all that was left of his.

Paradoxically, having a cold nose was one of the most comforting sensations that he could recall. And so, reminded of his ghostly friends, he began to coo and wave his arms at once.

The sight was both anxious and soothing to the ghosts, but it did catch their attention.

The duty nurse, tired from a long shift, noted a baby had both started and stopped crying quickly and gave only a peek into the room to make sure nothing had fallen on a face to suffocate anyone before going back to her break.

Luna waited until she was gone before telling her friends, "Harry can't communicate with anyone but us. We've got to be firm as the snow for him."

"He can communicate?" Hermione rushed over, but trying to interpret the patterns of waving baby limbs was futile, as they just weren't developed enough for sign language.

"Firm as snow? Shouldn't that be firm as rock? Snow isn't very firm." Ginny objected.

"Neither are ghosts," Luna concluded with implacable finality.

"Luna," Hermione plunged delicately. "How did you mean it when you said Harry can only communicate with us? How can he communicate at all?"

"Suck on some noses, we've got to form a bond with him."

And so, they did.

----

Harry had an unusual first month of life.

For one thing, his nose was always clean, which was odd because babies often get very runny faces. Most mothers have to constantly wipe if their baby gets a sniffle. Harry often had a chill, so there was no particular problem getting his nose running, but Lily almost never had to wipe it.

It was almost as if someone was vanishing the mucus. But that was absurd, James wouldn't hesitate to claim credit if he'd done so, and when she asked him he never had.

On the other hand, that got ignored in favor of wonder of his other many qualities that proved indisputably that Harry was the most magical of babies. Things flew to him when he wanted them, and more than once he flew about to get them. This was celebrated as one of the most distinct uses of accidental magic ever...

... instead of being attributed to the three ghosts who brought him things or carried him places.

Luna had gotten each other girl to form a telepathic bond to Harry that first day in the hospital, so they could communicate with him by mere thoughts. Then, in a surprise to each of them, had kindly asked them how they'd done it, so she could do it too.

On being pressed, she'd explained that some things aren't impossible until they are tried, and she didn't want to jinx fate by being aware of that and the first one to try to link to Harry.

However she'd done it, in tricking fate or just getting others to figure out what was normally impossible by not letting them know that it was, there were now three telekinetic ghosts with telepathic links to each other and Harry hanging around the Potter House.

Hermione, Ginny and Luna found they were unable to manifest themselves to where most mortals could see them. The prevailing explanation was that either it had been deemed too great an intrusion on mortal affairs for two ghosts of girls who hadn't even been born yet, and one of another still living as a tiny tot, to be floating around... or that flatulence of mule geese made it too risky for their hairstyles to be revealed to the public as yet.

The best way to forget your own suffering was to help another to deal with their own, a lesson all four of them had learned all too clearly at Azkaban. Thus they quickly fell back into those roles now. They did what they'd done in prison and kept Harry cared for and entertained, and they did it by indulging in something Hermione never got tired of - they read.

The Potter House was full of books on a wide variety of subjects. The Potters found almost the day they brought Harry home that they'd never again find each book where they left it. From that day forward there was always SOMETHING laying open or out of place, and the most rigorous cleaning or organizing would do nothing to affect that.

Meanwhile, three ghosts were catching up on their reading and sharing what they'd found with Harry so he didn't lose his sanity waiting for his body to develop. It was, after a fashion, their prison coping scheme all over again.

Discussions where every recalled scrap from different mothers' sewing lessons got debated had filled uncountable hours and provided a lifesaving necessity in Azkaban. So, now they had opportunities to resolve questions no one had recalled the answers to during prison, they had to be looked up and discussed in greater detail. Harry had spun fibers into bits of yarn, then knitted those into sweaters and such using needles he'd carved himself out of shards of bone leftover from meager meals, but had always looked like a half-drowned rat. They had the ability now to look up the right ways to do those things, and how his abortive attempts to weave cloth might've been done better. It had been a way to spend time as much as keep from freezing, and so more successful embroidery was also a hot topic now they had research material available.

Chatter about cooking and favorite foods had also filled many a weary hour, so Lily's cookbooks and notebooks filled with family recipes were among the worse sufferers of the perennial book disarray around the house.

None of the girls had been terribly domestic in life. Honestly, Harry outshone them all with his skills at keeping house. But those discussions on every issue, and every aspect of every issue, concerning keeping him alive and well had filled their... err, lives, for years in those dire circumstances.

And, now that they had an opportunity to study it, every girl wanted to be an expert.

Of course, since Harry was a baby and his haunting spirits were all girls, he got to play Dolls alot too - with him as the doll. At first this was of benefit to everyone, as Lily was not up to much so fresh after giving birth and James, while excellent in many respects, was a dad and thus not as concerned about checking for dirty diapers as often as he should be. The ghosts took care of that, with many teasing comments to Harry all the time, put him in all of the cute outfits they could find, one after another, and generally had a good time, until...

"Brrr! Honey turn the heat up will you? Harry's freezing!" Lily complained, putting yet another sweater on her boy after finding him chilled to the touch. How he got out of so many clothes she'd never know, not to mention INTO others!

"Up more?" James asked, incredulous, wearing a set of shorts and nothing else, a glisten of sweat to his body as he gestured to the hot summer day outside. "Lily, it's hotter indoors than out!"

"You feel him!" The redhead thrust her baby out to meet her husband's touch.

James, utterly incredulous, felt his son's back and admitted, "You're right, he's cold." Shaking his head, he added, "That can't be normal. Should we take him to St. Mungo's?"

"Already packing a bag now, honey. Will you floo ahead?" the tired woman added, with her husband already rushing to comply.

Not wanting to stress the family out with too many worries, or confuse the doctors with a rash of unexplained chills, the ghosts backed off a bit on 'Harry play' after that. Well, maybe not much, but they did try to be more clever about not getting caught doing it.

It was fortunate they did play with him, however, as at first Harry had trouble getting used to just accepting that he was a helpless, squalling infant. Breast feeding was a shock to his adult mind. Almost worse was getting his diaper changed. However, as a little baby he was scarcely more than a digestive tract with eyes, so there was little he could do but get used to it. During those times when his ghosts couldn't just lift him about, debate was still a big thing for Harry, there wasn't alot else he could do as a baby. So talking with his trio of ghostly friends filled most of his hours.

He'd also watched his parents, picking up memories of them for the first time. He'd watched his dad pal around with his friends, joke even when they were in danger to lighten the load of gloom off everyone, pull tricks and play with a golden snitch that he kept in his pocket, and in general be a happy go lucky, heroic, perfect father figure type man.

He'd loved seeing that part of him. It undid so much harm from having seen Snape's pensieve (memories which Harry was now certain the vindictive man had altered, only with more skill and subtlety than Slughorn's attempt at doing the same thing), because his father truly was a wonderful man.

That made it no wonder that Snape hated him, as it made the greasy git even worse by contrast when people who knew both could see the kind and generous Gryffindor and compare him to the disgusting, mean and hateful Snivellus.

As wonderful as Harry thought his father was, his mother was an equal. Lily was an angel. Nothing seemed to phase her, and she could do anything around the house with the greatest of ease. She sang to herself and her baby while she worked, and Harry memorized the tunes, treasuring them up.

Except for the fact that he was next to completely helpless in his infant body, it was everything that Harry had ever wanted and more. But being not much more than a set of eyes and ears gave him tons of time to observe, think, plan and prepare for a darker future.

Snape taught Occlumency as badly as he did Potions, the educational value nothing more than a thin veneer inadequately concealing that his true purpose was to hurt his pupils. But despite that, it was something Harry felt he had to know.

Harry had studied a book on Occlumency (thinking he'd have to fight Snape) before he got betrayed into Azkaban. Unfortunately, he'd not paid too much attention to that book when he'd had a chance, being so offended by Snape's mind-rape of him breaking every law and rule set forth in that guide, and going exactly opposite to every method of teaching it described, that he'd had trouble paying attention - something he'd bitterly regretted in the opening hours of Azkaban.

Arriving at prison, he'd done his best to recall those training techniques on the off chance that mental shields would help him hold off the dementors. But it had been too late to get an effective start, as he was sure the mental attacks would shred whatever neophyte resistance he could raise, and most probably drive him mad long before he had effective shields, even if he could surpass his own incomplete understanding and half-remembered principles to get it right. Even then, he wasn't sure that occlumency would help, but he'd wanted to try on the off chance it might.

What had ended up keeping him sane was his friends, though he still had too much fun teasing them over his supposed insanity to admit that as yet. That first month he'd even jokingly suggested that this happy dream might all be a cool delusion induced by way too many dementors and not enough food. Only a few days had gone by before he dropped that joke in favor of enjoying everything to do with his parents. Barely a month had passed before the unrelenting reality of his situation made itself inescapably clear to him - He had a chance to do it all over once again; really, truthfully live his life over again from the start, and hopefully get it right this time.

The moment of realization had been wonderful. At first, coming to accept that time had actually been wound back, he didn't know how to react. Slowly he envisioned his weirdness gauge rising at this new turn of events; after all if what he was experiencing was to be believed, he was now a month old, working on his first year of life. He hadn't gone to Hogwarts yet, he hadn't almost been killed ten times, and he hadn't been sent to Azkaban. He was free, Free!!

FREE!

Once more it was his friends that brought him back to Earth, this time literally, as he'd had such an explosive burst of accidental magic upon making that realization that he'd sent himself catapulting a hundred feet in the air from the baby bed where he'd been sunning beside his mother (to drive away his frequent chills).

But the ghosts caught him before he could plummet to his death. Lily and James, who had seen Harry 'fly' before, thought almost nothing of it, except to leash him against future bursts of flying and wonder about how he got cold again.

Even while they were lowering him, Harry had started excitedly chattering to his friends about all of the many possible things he could do now: he could go to Las Vegas, change himself into a mouse, become a politician, make a castle of cheese, put bets on important events... well maybe not being a politician come to think of it, but the rest, they did have merit!

Hermione had very primly informed him then, that if he wanted to make something of himself other than what he'd been the first time, that he should study. Knowledge was the only power he had that made this life any different from his last one, so he should use that to its fullest potential by improving upon his mental advantage as much as possible. Harry'd agreed, and no sooner had he done so than Luna had gone inside, borrowed a quill, and filled out an owl order form to get some Occlumency, Legilimency and other specialty, fringe or esoteric books (including a set of unusual, arcane and mysterious encyclopedias mostly regarded as junk fiction even among wizards) that they would then read to him and assist him in studying.

As a baby, Harry had plenty of time to study purely mental arts and not much else to do. It also helped his ghostly trio to feel useful to aid him in it. Thus, they did so much of it that he began learning more in a month of this study-at-home program than he did in a year of Hogwarts. For one, only sleep could distract him, nor did his friends require any time out for bodily functions. For that matter, neither did Harry, as those got taken care of for him and it actually helped distance his mind from the fact that he had his mother's boobs in his face if he was trying to master some obscure mystical mind art while eating, not that the ghostly trio restricted themselves to merely reading to him or just practicing occlumency. Oh, no!

Being who she was, Hermione soon took it upon herself to reorganize the Potter family library so she could find things better, then filled out her own orders for books. She encouraged Harry's practice at mind arts, pointing out that being an expert could hardy hurt his situation any, and could easily save them grief later on.

They did have secrets to keep, after all. And if Harry went back to Hogwarts, Snape and Dumbledore both would try to get inside of his head again. There wasn't any doubt of that. So now was the time to prepare to block out a pair of experienced Legilimencers, by reports two of the best in the world, if he wanted a chance to succeed when it happened.

Hopefully, eleven years of practice would be enough time to counter their great experience.

Ginny, being who she was, made her own orders for books, and in between the questionable romance novels were some surprisingly good books on magical history, written more as tales than as texts, of course, but still quite valuable. Actually, for all of the scarcity of hard factual data in them, they were far more approachable than the dry old texts (not to mention the deceased History Professor who'd loved them). And many of those books held the unspoken basics of a magical upbringing, the stories people were just assumed to know as part of a wizarding culture, the kind of thing so simple and integral that no one even thought to mention them to newcomers.

To natives it was like mentioning that water was wet. You didn't have to, and anyone who didn't already know was obviously a simpleton and weird to boot.

Of course, to both Hermione and Harry these were entirely new, and Luna had not bothered with them particularly before, so as Ginny's excitement spread enough to spark curiosity when she shared them they found those books a surprisingly valuable contribution.

James, being who he was, once he noticed that his library had been completely reorganized, along with strange books appearing he'd never known or cared existed (and some of which could only be pranks, like the Thirty Ways to Seduce a Korrigan) assumed that his friends had given him a celebratory prank for Harry's arrival, and promptly got into the spirit by returning the favor to them!

It was a natural assumption. The Potter library at Godric's Hollow had been startlingly big, having been assembled by two avid readers (Lily, as a talented student, and James as her equal if not better in study, just with a different emphasis - the search for pranks!), but for the most part it had been a random assortment just shoved anywhere on the shelves. So a very sober and businesslike organization of that mess, along with unexpected new titles like "Gwragedd Annwn and their Natural Habitat," not to mention that those books had been charged to JAMES, could only spell a prank, and he'd had to respond. It was a moral imperative. Not knowing who among his Marauding friends had been behind it, or if they'd all collaborated, he'd gladly responded in kind to all of them, buying them the most obscure books he could think of on their accounts as a simple acknowledgement of their zinger before starting on his own.

When they responded in kind to his response, using even more obscure titles, he assumed this was a one-upmanship contest for who could discover the most unusual and off-the-wall books to sell to his friends, and gladly got into that spirit. Thus started a prank war that no one truly knew or cared how it started, only that it lightened the load of fear considerably to have humorous books with amazingly esoteric titles arrive, to distract them from the omnipresent fighting.

The months started to pass more swiftly after that.

One MAJOR surprise to Harry was how playful his father was, always taking time out of an already stressed schedule to tickle Harry's feet and ribs, play all of the little baby games like allowing the young one to grab fingers, blow raspberries onto his tummy, toss him high into the air and catch him just as carefully as could be, and encourage him in all ways to use his little body to develop it faster.

Okay, he'd heard stories about how his father loved pranks. One or two people had said he was a great man. But there was no end of difference between hearing that and experiencing it first hand.

Besides, there had been considerable pressure to make him think that his father's pranks were mean-spirited, ugly or just undeserved. Granted, he'd never truly believed his dad was that way, but it had been hard not to doubt, just a bit, when that was all he'd ever heard about him. Of course, Snape had been just about the only one willing to talk about him. Those at Hogwarts who'd admitted to knowing his parents had stayed strangely silent about them, with even Remus, one of their best friends, barely saying three sentences about James and Lily (and practically none of that was on Lily).

All he'd ever truly heard was the reverent summary of "oh, they were great people" and Snape's constant jibes and attacks, none of which carried any real detail.

To find that his father had a fun streak a mile wide, an irrepressible good humor, able to laugh in the face of the greatest darkness, and was obviously as intelligent as he was fun, a true athlete, with a wife just as witty as he was, opened up whole vistas no description could've!

Although, a description still would've helped. One day when they discussed the topic, it was Ginny who'd pointed out that Remus had vanished from Harry's life completely and just as abruptly as he'd come into it, and it soon became the consensus that no silence as complete as Harry'd suffered under concerning something as basic as his well-known and well-loved parents, could've been accidental. And, from that conclusion, it had been the inevitable observation that only Dumbledore had the power to create or impose such a condition on Harry, who'd only even learned that his father had played Quidditch by an old trophy stuck in an odd corner of the castle!

And even that had to have been pointed out to him by a friend who'd seen it. Ron had commented at the time that it was odd, having Hermione know more about Harry's life than he did, and Harry could still recall his bitter response, "Who doesn't?" But he'd never been able to correct that ignorance in any substantial way. He'd never even seen one of those books written about his own story!

Harry had no explanation for how or why that happened, only that it had, and all of the signs pointed toward Dumbledore as the only one in a position and with authority to pull it off, getting everyone's cooperation and keeping Harry from shopping on his own. But nothing explained why he'd want to! Or why he'd wanted Harry's possessions limited to his school supplies and some gifts, and nothing else.

Hermione had even owned some of those books, bought for light reading, but she had never showed him a copy. Asking her now, the ghost revealed it had honestly never occurred to her, which struck everyone as fishy since she'd gone home for Christmas that first year knowing that Harry was desperate to know anything concerning his parents, and she'd had some material on them in her room. She could've picked those up over her break before returning from the holiday on her first year, but as she confessed now, she'd never even thought to share what she knew to ease the mind of her best friend concerning that great big gap of ignorance about his family.

For so simple a logical step to escape Hermione wasn't normal. Nor had she, once, in all of their years of schooling together, thought to quote any of those books to him, which was another very non-Hermione-like action. Showing him that trophy was the last helpful thing she'd ever done to reveal anything about his parents to Harry, and she didn't even know why she hadn't!

Yet she was in tears as she apologized to him about that now.

Luna said that had to be a very specific behavior charm. Hermione returned that those didn't exist, and Ginny pointed out that Dumbledore could have invented them. Luna had then suggested how odd it was that Harry had never purchased one of those books on his own after Dumbledore's death, in Auror school, when he'd lived in America. Or to ask for one as a gift, once he knew about them.

A very stunned Harry confessed, using almost Hermione's exact words, that it had honestly never occurred to him to do so, which again struck everyone as fishy.

In the end, no one knew for certain.

Before he'd returned to this life, Harry'd known very few things about his family at all. One, was that Petunia was his mother's sister, and claimed her parents favored Lily. Two, was trivia about their wands, dropped by Mr. Ollivander. Three, teachers had mentioned precisely three things about his parents' schoolwork: that his father favored transfiguration and his mother was gifted in both charms and potions. Four, was he'd seen the quidditch trophy that had his father's name on it. Five, he'd seen the Marauder's Map and been told by Remus that his father had helped create it, and had an animagus form of a stag. Then, he'd seen a few magical photographs and been told his parents were Head Boy and Head Girl in their day. Also, someone had mentioned once the attack had taken place in Godric's Hollow, so that was presumably where they'd lived.

All of that was trivia.

Nothing about who their relatives were, where they grew up, what foods they liked, favorite colors, quirks, if they had a sports team, what they did for a living, virtually nothing of their life stories or the most basic information you could pick up spending two minutes with someone at a stale and boring social gathering.

The details that made a stranger into a real person were all missing from that picture.

The information from Remus had come after he'd nearly lost his life to the man, and about a hundred dementors, revealed a traitor and saved the life of his oldest remaining true friend. You could think normal gratitude would've covered a little bigger disclosure than a few begrudged words covering the barest and most minimal description of the reasons you'd just risked your life?

Why had everything about Lily and James Potter been so hard to find out?

They were, in fact, near total strangers to him in every way. Harry knew more details about the families of people he'd never met, just had heard of generally among the rumor mill at Hogwarts.

A Chocolate Frog card carried as much information, if not more.

Actually, most chocolate frog cards held significantly more information than that, and Harry suddenly wondered why his parents hadn't had one. Everyone acknowledged they'd been heroes in the war against Riddle, defying him three times according to Dumbledore when he'd told him about the prophecy. People got on those cards for stuff as simple as inventing a better foot-balm. Why hadn't his parents been honored for being tragic heroes in a war that had shaped the modern wizarding world?

Or maybe they had and he'd just never seen them? Was that why, when Ron had gotten him a case of those frogs as a present, as he'd been resting up in the hospital after saving the Philosopher's Stone, they'd all already been opened before he'd even woken up from his wounds?

Ron may have been a prick, but he knew better than to open a present he'd given to someone else in order to look for stuff he wanted for his own collection. Why give the gift at all if you are going to do something like that? Besides, Ron knew Harry would've gladly given him any card he'd wanted, just for the asking, particularly if he'd needed it to complete a collection (a dry and cynical voice from Ginny pointed out that was why Ron had given Harry those chocolate frogs in the first place, as he'd known he'd share both the cards and the candy). So why deny him the pleasure of opening those boxes and eating some frogs himself?

Unless... it hadn't been Ron?

Dumbledore had been the one who'd told him it had been Ron. What if he'd lied? What if someone else had gone through those, specifically to get rid of any mentioning his parents? What other reason was there to do something like that? Except, to eliminate any cards mentioning his family, so he didn't learn anything?

They only had one good jump in them, which they gave upon being opened, so to open them 'for' Harry was to spoil most of the value of the candy. Animated frogs would also wander off, if left alone. Harry could only recall having eaten four of them. There had to be more than four to a case, right?

Come to think of it, those cards hadn't been for sale on any other Hogwarts train trip, or in Hogsmead, that he'd noticed. He couldn't actually recall seeing those candies again, but at the time he'd never thought to wonder about why.

Also Madam Pomphrey didn't look kindly on people robbing her guests while they were recuperating. No idle student, not even many teachers, could've just sat at the foot of his bunk and opened all of a case of chocolate frogs for him.

Once again, it could've been Dumbledore, but why would he do such a thing? What purpose did it serve to keep him ignorant about his parents who'd died protecting him?

No silence could be that complete by accident. Harry knew next to nothing about his family when he'd been surrounded every day by people who'd both known and loved them, been his parents' friends and teachers. And virtually all he'd known he'd picked up in his first year, which wasn't natural, and most of that had even been dropped on him by Hagrid, and Harry knew how that giant was about keeping secrets.

The only thing Harry'd ever heard with any regularity was how he'd looked like his father, but had his mother's green eyes, when he could learn as much himself by looking at virtually any picture.

Also, the only pictures Harry'd had of his parents had him in the photo - a one year frame of time that didn't tell him much about their life at all, especially since most of the poses made it seem like the entire series had been taken on the same weekend. A simple leftover shopping list would've more than doubled what he knew about his parents.

People had been more willing to talk to him about Voldemort, speaking in fearful and whispered tones about 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', than tell him simple facts like what his parents did for a living! Or what the names of his own grandparents were.

Harry knew more about VOLDEMORT'S family than he did of his own!!! Lots more! He could actually put a name to some of the Dark Lord's grandparents, and one uncle! He'd heard their voices and seen a single 'at home' scene out of their lives!

All of which was pretty slender, but greater by far than what he knew about his own.

And most of what he 'knew' before was about as unconfirmable as you get, making rumors look substantial by comparison and the typical Quibbler article look as solid as stone tablets carried by Moses down from a mountain. Fred and George crafted more 'evidence' just to get an alibi to cover their tracks for a prank!

Somehow, a void had been crafted where only Snape spoke about his parents at all, and everything he'd said had been meant to make them out as horrid creatures almost as disgusting as the slimy man maligning their names and memories.

And again, everything pointed to Dumbledore, but without any reasons why.

It was maddening!

All of this speculation had distracted him from real issue, however, and that was how positively wonderful were his mom and dad! Harry was disgusted with himself, here he was in circumstances more pleasant and happier than he ever could've imagined, and he kept letting himself be sidetracked thinking about things that had hurt him before. Until one of his girls shyly mention that the worst wounds he'd picked up in his first life weren't physical, and even after you stop getting injured it takes some time to heal.

He'd just have to deal with his mental scars for a while yet.

Fortunately, James and Lily Potter were helping out enormously on that, just by being who they were and enjoying their baby. Once she was able to get out of bed and around, Lily shone. Even before then she'd often keep Harry right beside her most of the day, singing to him, smiling at him and just radiating a love unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The amount of concern Lily showed as she tenderly cared for his needs earnestly touched her young boy, once he'd gotten past the initial embarrassment.

On the other hand there was his dad, who'd never intentionally neglect his son, but had a far different emphasis by preference than making sure he was fed and changed. The Master Marauder wanted to play with his boy, showing forth a depth of fun that didn't seem to have any limit as he'd invented game after game, all of them strangely aimed to what Harry could do at the time.

There was just one thing, baby Harry had been observed flying and moving other things about. James was HAPPY to play that, using his wand to play 'Carousel' where a good few dozen objects (mostly Harry's toys) would fly through the air above Harry's head in a Merry-Go-Round pattern.

This was strangely delightful.

James, however, did everything his brilliantly devious mind could devise to get his son to play along, and move objects too. There was astonishingly no cajoling beyond the encouraging words you'd give to any infant you adored, but James had watched Harry and knew those sort of objects he was wont to summon to him, and had those dart and swoop in and out of Harry's reach. He'd also 'lose' them from a pattern, or make a delightful display of amazing flying intricacies with just one thing wrong with it, so that if that one thing were to get removed everything would be perfect.

Even with an adult mind in there, Harry soon WANTED to move things about so he could play in this game too!

The ghosts tried to stay out of this, being reluctant to be too obvious, but once when Harry had been particularly entranced by a story they'd been reading to him from magical history, that book got snatched to be a part of this game, and Harry WANTED to know how it ended! There had been so much he could relate to in that fictionalized little bit of magical history and he longed so badly to know how it ended (and if some scrap of that could be applied to his own little Dark Lord problem), not to mention that James had it dancing so close he could practically touch it...

... that Luna had wandered over and given the book to him, snatching it out of the flying display and handing it to the crying boy.

James burst out of the room, shouting, "Lily! He DID IT! I caught him this time! Harry was napping on a book, and it must've been comfortable because when I took it he almost popped out of his diaper trying to grab it back, but when I started it dancing in the air around him he BROUGHT IT TO HIM!"

The dad was bursting with pride in his son.

Harry idly began sucking on the corners of pages, wondering what this brought.

End Part Two


	3. Chapter 3

Reflections Through Time   
Chapter Three 

by Lionheart 

Author's Rant:   
Time travel is really my favorite Harry Potter genre. However I get so annoyed by so many authors who send him back and fail to make any substantive use out of all those many glorious opportunities he had in the years before Hogwarts, glossing over them with a quick "Oh, and he had a childhood," or dropping him at the start of some school year. 

In my opinion, it is the NON-school periods that have the most potential use. The times when he didn't do anything are the perfect moments to use for something else, even if it is just to get ahead on his schoolwork. 

And frankly, let's be honest about it, Harry is way underpowered for the type of threats he typically faces. He can't depend upon luck or a last minute save forever. The sooner he starts adjusting his power level upward the happier he'll be. However, I favor time travel fics mostly because in the official series, it's already far too late. 

At last I came to the conclusion that if I wanted a story done up the way I'd really like there was no alternative but for me to write it. I'd tried to go only halfway by suggesting ideas to some of my favorite authors, but they had their own ideas and used only a couple of mine. However, some of the things you will see in this fic you may have seen before in other stories, despite the fact that they were mine to begin with. 

Disclaimer: If you want to find the owner of the copyrighted material herein, you won't do it on a fansite. They get paid for their work. 

---- 

His parents were still students, Harry learned. Not long out of Hogwarts themselves, both had elected to continue their education, James as a curse-breaker, of all things, and Lily as a Healer. Though, in the end, it made little enough of a difference, as both helped each other with studies every evening, and so consequently were learning each other's materials as well as their own. 

Sirius was in auror training, and most nights he stopped by to join this study group, adding his material and picking up theirs as they traded homework assignments back and forth, with anecdotes and notes from the various lectures. 

In shouldering this triple load of course work, they proved they were geniuses, as the child and ghosts silently observing them sometimes had trouble following the work, and Harry had two years plus a month or so of auror training himself. 

Another owl-order, and Hermione had secreted auto-notes quills around the room to record these study sessions, taking notes on everything said so they could catch up during the day on this advanced material all of them were curious about. 

Remus also stopped in, but not as often. Apparently it was not widely known that he was a werewolf yet. That it had stayed a secret this long surprised Harry, who'd thought more or less everyone knew. But evidently that was not the case, and the third Marauder was also in an auror training program, this one designed for producing a quick supply of cut-rate troops to throw into the war, replacing losses as fast as possible. 

The ghosts and Harry were shocked, just shocked, to learn that Remus had grades that trailed behind his friends significantly, and couldn't qualify for the full-auror course that Sirius had undertaken. 

Ginny and Hermione had both sputtered over learning that their best DADA teacher had the poorest grades of any of the adults in the room, until Luna had quietly mentioned in her distracted way that he had less time to study each month. 

One of these early visits Peter stopped by, and from comments overheard the unobtrusive listeners concluded that Pettigrew had scored a low paying job as a clerk with the Ministry and was apparently satisfied with his lot in life. 

Appearances can be deceiving. 

Lingering on after one of these visits, Peter went to a cupboard where Hermione had secreted one of her note-taking pens. "Aha," the man proclaimed, drawing out the stack of papers. "Little Lily has been taking notes on her own lectures, has she? Interesting. How fortunate for Peter that he overheard you scratching, my little friend." Making a copy of those notes, the traitor returned them to their cupboard, closing the door. As he was stuffing those copies into his jacket, on his way to the floo where James and Lily were presently seeing the others off, they heard the rat man mutter to himself, "I must see if Severus is still in the market for James and Lily's notes. He paid quite well for them before." 

Stunned, simply stunned, Harry was unable to respond. It wasn't until Hermione's speculation, "Well, we knew he was a traitor. People rarely do that in one great big step. They tend to do lots of little things before committing the big mistake that damns them." 

Luna had tugged those notes out of Peter's pocket just as he'd disappeared into the fire, and the pages settled onto the wood after the horrible man had vanished, crisping up into balls of flaky ash as the fire stopped being green. 

On future visits, they'd piece together enough comments, from everyone else and from Peter, to learn some surprising things (in between stopping the traitorous rat from stealing from Harry's family). Snape had passed Potions with a LOWER grade than any of the Marauders, sans Pettigrew, who had equaled his Acceptable. 

From listening to Peter and piecing together what he said, they could only conclude that Snape's 'research' recorded in those Half-Blood Prince memoirs was actually stolen bit by bit, a compiled record of secrets he'd bought or copied from other students during school. 

Somehow, none of them could bring themselves to be surprised about that. 

"You know, it makes sense in a way," Ginny speculated. "Harry told us that book was just another old textbook shoved in the back under an old counter. If it had really been that precious it would've been in Snape's room, or if he'd really been working out of it he wouldn't have left it behind in that classroom when Slughorn took over Potions and Snape moved over to teaching DADA. But if it was just a compiled copy of other people's notes, then he could very easily have compiled those again, possibly with other stolen notes, into a larger empty book to use every day. That's the only way I could see the original getting shoved in some odd, forgotten corner, the way it was found." 

None of them had a better theory, so for the moment just shrugged, accepting hers. And so they went on learning. Harry had a brilliant mind that the Dursleys had done everything they could to squash, and because of an ingrained fear of displaying too much intelligence at school (lest in his 'showing off' he outperform Dudley and get punished) he'd never excelled at Hogwarts, doing all he could to try and fit in. 

Harry'd been so ignorant and trusting, way back then. 

As The Boy Who Lived, blending in was impossible. Worse, by trying he'd left himself open to attacks that used his fame against him, like that reporter woman, Snape and assorted Ministers. And he'd just let it all happen, doing nothing to resist, only trying to ignore it all in the vain hopes that it would go away and leave him alone. 

Well, look where that had gotten him, locked up in Azkaban. 

It wasn't going to be that way this time. He wouldn't let it. Harry would not permit himself to be that vulnerable again, and he devoted all of his time toward the purpose of acquiring useful skills so he'd have the ability to protect himself this time - as he knew from experience that no one else was going to do it for him. 

Of course, he was far from the only one studying and practicing, trying to build up his skills. Hermione beat Luna out on discovering their next 'ghost trick' by reading an account of a ghost that could create strange lights, and had promptly copied that power. After a brief sucking of Harry's suddenly cold and runny nose Hermione began experimenting with this very flexible radiance. At first, she'd intended merely to use it to read by, the light was quite bright, and the ones the Potters used were all magically controlled, turned on or off by wand flicks. So this could enable the trio to read to Harry when he woke up at night, or to catch up on their favorite subjects themselves while the rest of the household was sleeping. 

However, the phosphorescence was far more adaptable than she'd at first realized. As the other two copied her new ability they experimented and discovered they could create a full range of colors, but only one at a time, and that they could shape the light into just about anything roughly man size or smaller. Those images were far from realistic, appearing as transparent, luminous figures that wouldn't fool anyone into thinking they were real, but not long after they'd discovered this art Lily burst into the room and caught them playing around with the new power. 

Ginny had formed a golden glow into a petite lion, curled around the snoozing Harry. Hermione had been playing around with a phoenix, trying to get a mix of colors where she could make it seem aflame, but presently it was only orange. Luna, on the other hand, had formed a shockingly green copy of Matilda Marchbanks at lifesize and was experimenting with trying to get her laugh-lines precisely right. 

Lily had been on her way to feed Harry when she'd spotted a distinct glow from the crack below the door to the nursery, and had burst in expecting trouble. She had in no way expected to be intruding upon so surreal a scene, and the lights vanished instantly upon her arrival, granting her only a glimpse of them before they snuffed out in shock. 

Grabbing Harry, the mother of the infant rushed back to the master bedroom and woke her husband. "James! I just saw something in Harry's room!" 

"What was it?" 

The man burst instantly to his feet, wand in hand. Lily could never understand how her beloved hubby could actually hear and comprehend her when he was asleep, but he could snore through a boring lesson and quote the whole thing at the end. It once drove their teachers batty, but it had gotten him past History of Magic with the best grade in the school. Now it served him as an early alarm system, always alert for trouble even when asleep. 

And, those few times she'd laid awake at night, confiding her troubles to her sleeping man, he'd done his best to address those the next day. She'd been a whole year figuring that out before at last getting him to confess via a few faked tears. 

"Three forms," Lily gasped, she didn't startle easily and gave a decent description of what she'd seen. "Three glowing creatures, all ghostly and transparent: a phoenix, a golden lion, and a woman we know, Matilda Marchbanks, only she was glowing green. They vanished the moment I entered the room." 

"What kind of green?" James glanced down to make certain Harry was ok, and other than an abrupt awakening and feelings of hunger, he was just fine. 

"Killing curse green," Lily responded heavily. 

Dressing in a single wand gesture, James strode downstairs and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, bending over to duck beneath the mantle as he stepped into the green flames, declaring firmly, "The Marching Banks!" 

Lily waited an anxious half-hour for her husband to return, nursing Harry and fretting the entire time. When he did return, James had a fresh cut on his sleeve and a trickle of blood on that arm coming from a barely dodged curse. He was perky, and immediately went to hold his wife and explain what had occurred. He started out with the important stuff, as usual, "Nobody died, on our side that is, though Henry and his two oldest kids are going to St. Mungo's, they did it on their feet and should recover fast. I went there to ask what was going on, but nothing seemed at all out of place at first. I felt awful for rolling the family out of bed like that, but they were nice about it, and didn't know anything about why Henry's wife would have been floating as a ghostly green image in Harry's room. I was about to put it all down to a prank, as their kids were already doing, when Henry did a routine check of the wards, seeing as how he was already up." 

The Marauder swallowed, stroking his wife's hair as he held her tight. "There were big gaps, holes cut out of their wards that didn't respond. At that point everyone grabbed their wands and started getting prepared, kids hunkering down behind furniture in the living room. Ghoul Grenades started coming in the windows of a few bedrooms. If they'd been asleep that would've been the end of them. The Death Eaters came in the front doors next, behind a wave of zombies. I kept turning the zombies into random junk; socks, discarded bottles, stuff like that, while animating the chairs and tables to fight in our defense." 

Lily nodded wordlessly, not interrupting. James was a genius at Transfiguration, and using that imaginatively in battle was one of his specialties. Zombies could take enormous punishment from spell damage and keep on coming. One of the swiftest ways to stop them was to transform them into objects that couldn't move on their own, and random junk had an added difficulty for the Death Eaters following behind the first wave, in that they didn't know which of the objects laying around on the floor to transfigure back into their assault force. 

Animated furniture was another specialty of her husband's, and served most of the same purpose on the defensive as zombies did on offense: they were fairly hard to kill and every action spent stopping them from bludgeoning you to death was less attention you could spare to trading spells with the opposing wizards. James had also perfected the trick of getting his animated objects to leap in front of Killing Curses and the like, a trick that some members of the Order (including Dumbledore!) were trying to copy. 

Some battles, the animated objects and zombies would get in each other's way and more or less cancel out. But Lily could just see her husband removing the zombie threat as it passed through the front door in single file, transformation spells taking them down as they entered. Death Eaters relied on their zombies to take more punishment than that, and stood behind them as cover for protection while they sent off their own volleys of spells. 

So going in without that advantage had probably been bad for them. 

Even suffering post-battle stress, James had to grin, as if reading her thoughts. "One Prick-Eater even got caught in my animated welcome mat, just stepping right onto it and falling face-down in front of a potbellied stove that just stomped on his head. His skull turned to goo in one blow. It was sweet, I'm going to have to recommend that to the others. I didn't even have to waste a spell on finishing that guy off." 

James settled down off of the adrenalin rush and started to get into this story. "So, while the stove blew smoke in their eyes and crushed feet, breaking ankles because its legs couldn't reach very high, the rug swarmed up one Prick-Eater's face and wrapped itself tight around his head. He couldn't speak to get a spell off, and the curtain rods tripped him up so he fell and the stove got a second kill. Can we get ourselves a stove, honey?" 

Lily didn't bother suppressing a giggle. "Sure, dear. We'll pick one up in the morning." 

James nodded, feeling better. "Anyway, while the curtains were blowing out in the way of their curses and the enemy were trying to spread out and get more room - stepping in my transfigured bear traps, by the way, Henry and I dropped two more of the first rank. Matilda summoned half of her kitchen utensils into the room, then banished them back out the front door, spearing forks and knives into the bad guys - too shallow to reach vital organs, but they decided to pop back out at that point, triggering portkeys. All told they lost half the raiding party in the first few seconds before spooking. I wish more battles could go that way. The survivors on their side will be too busy healing up to raid for another day or so, and a couple should take even longer. One got a fork stuck in his eye, and another left a foot behind in one of my bear traps. I was trying to convince Henry to get it turned into an umbrella stand, but his wife wouldn't stand for it, I'm sure." 

Lily sighed with relief, letting go of tension. The Marchbanks were good friends of the Longbottoms, and while not as close, still friends of the Potters and firm allies on the side of Light. It would have been a grievous blow to lose that family. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she began rubbing his chest. "I wish I could've been there. Matilda was probably frantic." 

His cheery grin didn't conceal an intense stare. "Lily, you are the first witch I'd choose to have at my side in any fight, but I was glad you'd stayed behind here with Harry. If you were there our attackers would've have lost another two or three of their members, maybe none of that force would've gone home. You drop 'em pretty quick, and I already know that you'd have no trouble setting up an anti-portkey ward, so they probably all would've died, if we didn't take one or two for questioning. But you know what? I don't care. We'll get them anyway. And this way I don't have any nightmares about a curse that barely missed you." He made a face. "It just wouldn't be the same kissing you if you had frog lips or anything." 

"Are the Marchbanks going to be alright?" Lily continued her rubbing of his chest. 

James nodded firmly. "Yes, no problems. They didn't even really get scared. Ernie, their youngest? When they'd vanished his head popped from behind the couch where he and his sisters had been watching through the cracks, and the first thing out of his mouth was, "That's it? That's all there was?" 

Lily grimaced. Most battles lasted only seconds, with clear advantage obvious from the start. But that was no excuse to be a thrill seeker. That boy would've been singing a different tune if it had been their attackers winning the fight. 

She spoke softly. "It would've been different if you hadn't been there, or if Henry hadn't chosen to check his wards." 

There was a grim reality to the truth of her words. Even if the ghoul grenades hadn't gotten them all in their beds, there was a world of difference between walking into a ready (if hasty) defense and just storming a sleepy house. And her husband's wand counted extra, more than most. Henry was a good man and a competent wizard, but while James hadn't said it, he hadn't had to. They both knew the man, and he'd probably spent the entire time dueling in a more traditional manner, blocking spells and using counterspells, not dropping one opponent the entire time. Bless her heart, but his wife was the same. The house was surely more intact for them having blocked their fair share of incoming damage via counterspells, but James had been the one to drop their opponents and force them to flee in defeat and confusion. 

"Eight wands in the attacking force, plus zombies and a leading wave of costly ghoul grenades, all arriving in the middle of a night against two adult wands for the defenders. That was supposed to be a slaughter," she whispered, musing on why so much got sent. 

"It was!" James agreed, enthusiastically, his energy undepleted by having woken up in the middle of the night and just having fought a battle. "The Pricks barely had anybody standing by the time they left, another two seconds and none of them would've made it out. And yes, I know you meant it was supposed to go the other way, or so they'd thought." 

He shrugged and leaned further into his wife, musing aloud. "Their two oldest kids are Hogwarts students, and made a pretty good attempt at helping out, but the best they were throwing were Jelly Legs jinxes. When is Albus going to start getting a decent teacher to fill the DADA spot?" 

Lily shrugged, confirming in her mind that without James there their friends would've died, even if they'd had a warning. Aside from that volley of silverware at the end - most probably inspired by seeing James duel, the Marchbanks just weren't doing any damage to their foes by his report. In her estimate, if James hadn't been there, four effective wand arms, plus a sheltering group of zombies, would've been sufficient for Voldemort's crew to take that house and slay the family without significant risk of losses, or using up expensive grenades. 

She'd need to stop by and give their friends some instruction, but also see why the foe had used so much excessive force on a not terribly threatening family. Perhaps Matilda would know a good reason for the enemy to want her family dead so badly. 

Dumbledore would surely want to know why they'd been targeted. 

Harry and his ghostly friends, who had been listening in this whole time, conversing via telepathy to discuss things or clarify points, saw his parents had done sharing the details and were now moving on to necking, Harry allowed Ginny to slip him away to his crib, asking at the same time, "What are ghoul grenades?" 

"Potions derived from the foul essence of undead." Hermione answered with a grimace. "When the vials shatter they spread forth a noxious cloud of fog, that doesn't last very long but destroys living flesh on touch. Getting caught in a blast will leave you looking like a dried out corpse in an instant of contact, not only very dead, but decayed. They're very nasty weapons, but between his zombies and vampire followers, Voldemort has a steady supply of the key ingredients. They still would've cost him a small fortune to create, though. He didn't use too many during the second war. But then, he didn't really need to." 

"Still, it sounds like a way he'd enjoy watching people die." 

"True, but they are very difficult to brew, and temperamental, so they require more time per potion than others that are also useful to him. So they are something of a luxury weapon. The expense probably wouldn't matter to him, but he had fewer potion masters during his second rise. Potion grades average much higher now than they do in the future." 

"Snape, no doubt." Harry groused. 

"I wouldn't be surprised." Ginny agreed with him. 

"I would have to agree, it does seem likely." Hermione conceded, watching Harry's face turn ever so slightly purple. While Ron was a tough subject for her, Snape was one for Harry, and for a multitude of reasons. 

Meanwhile, Harry's thoughts were turning once more to that bastard of a teacher. It still hurt realizing that the guy could read minds, and so he KNEW that Harry wasn't seeking attention or glory for himself, that he'd never been coddled or sought favoritism. That bastard knew, and didn't care. He'd said those things because they'd hurt Harry, and they were an excuse for the horrible teacher to bully him that other people could generally credit because in some quiet corner of their minds they'd fully expected Harry to be spoiled, as most magical families would've pampered him to death. 

Most magical people couldn't even conceive of hurting him intentionally. 

That Severus Snape was willing to do so, to lie to hurt a child he'd never met before, one innocent of any desire to harm him (until after substantial provocation), all because Snape hated a man who'd once saved his life - a man whom Snape himself had done a significant part of sending to his and his wife's death, and to KEEP doing it! To keep lying to hurt Harry, and hurt him just as much as he could get away with, over years and years... 

That said more about the greasy haired man's character than anything else could've. 

Shaking himself free of those thoughts and resolving to think on happier things, the child turned his attention back to his friends and family who'd moved on to other topics of conversation, and inwardly made a choice. 

As a baby looking back on his betrayal into Azkaban, and all of the mistakes and people that had led him there, Harry at last quietly concluded that being smart was the only thing that could save him. People like Voldemort and Dumbledore had other sorts of power only because they knew so much - all of their prestige and followers came later, after they'd proven they could do stuff alone, just with the knowledge in their heads and a few wand flicks. 

He snickered at the thought of Hermione as a potential dark lord, deciding to tease her about it for a few weeks, but better her way than Ron Weasley's. Being stupid and lazy was just asking to be a target: set up, used up, framed and discarded. 

Like before. 

Thus, Harry doubled his resolve to learn these subjects. Snape wasn't going to catch him unawares this time around. With a bit of luck, Harry thought he could even teach himself Potions and skip out on that murdering Death Eater's classes entirely. Luck was with him in one way, in that his parents both excelled at that subject and had lots of books on it. 

And, as always, tomorrow came. 

"Honey, do you want to hear the latest?" Lily asked as she came down to breakfast. "Dumbledore thinks that the raid last night was to acquire a hostage. Griselda Marchbanks is a formidable opponent and stark upright, preventing Voldemort from getting much influence in the Ministry. She's Henry's great-great grandmother, or something. The lady gave Albus his NEWT tests, if you want an idea how old she is. Anyway, he feels this attack was not so much against Henry and Matilda as it was to weaken Griselda by their deaths, and possibly take the youngest hostage to see if blackmail could sway her should more threats fail to." 

"That sounds like a move he'd make," James agreed, sitting down to breakfast. "And even if she didn't budge, or break with grief, some of those who saw what she'd gone through resisting Voldemort might've buckled under similar pressure if he made threats to them, rather than suffer the same fate to befall their families." 

What everyone in the room knew, even Harry, was that threatening families was a standard tactic of Voldemort's followers, who used it at every opportunity. 

"He's also coming over sometime tomorrow to see if he can discover why we saw her image in Harry's room at midnight, just before the attack." Lily concluded. 

Three ghosts looked at each other, resolving to be elsewhere over that visit. They had too many unanswered questions about the Headmaster to relish a prospect of discovery by him, and he was far to canny about discovering faint magical traces not to recognize some ghosts, even invisible ones. Seeing the invisible had never stopped him before. 

"Why did you choose to form that woman's image, anyway?" Hermione pressed. 

"I was celebrating the anniversary of my great-aunt's death with a picture balloon in her honor," said Luna, who was reading from a cookbook upside down. 

Not the book, the ghost was upside down, standing on the ceiling. She'd taken to doing that alot of late. 

Ginny elaborated for her. "Luna's mother was Matilda Marchbank's sister. That was one of the lines nearly wiped out by Voldemort's first rise to power." 

Hermione frowned, alert to incorrect grammar. "I thought a great-aunt described a relationship meaning a person was your grandmother's sister. A mother's sister would simply be an ordinary aunt." 

"She weighed close to 400 pounds." Luna answered, playing with Lily's bangs. "But I think mother called her great because of her excellent Leprechaun and turtle soup." 

"She cooked leprechauns?!?" Hermione cried out in horror. 

Lovegood fixed her with an odd gaze. "No, she fed her soup to Leprechauns and turtles." 

Heedless of this invisible (and to them, inaudible) conversation, Lily went on, "So, have you got a babysitter for tonight?" 

James exuded confidence as he nodded. "Peter will be handling it." 

Lily grinned, unaware of the look of horror appearing on the faces of three ghosts and one baby. Harry, in desperation, started bawling at once and refused to be comforted. But his parents, though puzzled, had been planning this outing for weeks and when Peter arrived he assured them both that he would be alright and everything would be fine. The baby was just being colicky. It happened. 

They should just enjoy the night out together they'd planned. 

The moment they were out the door Peter threw a silencing charm on the terrified baby, banishing him off to his crib. Then, after feasting himself on what he could raid from the kitchen, came in to Harry's room and picked the boy up by the back of his shirt. "So, you're the little runt that James has been bragging about. He says you can fly." 

Harry didn't like the awful grin that appeared in the rat's eyes as Peter waved him about, then opened the bedroom window. 

They were two stories up. 

"Let's see, shall we?" Peter dangled Harry outside the window into the dark night. In his baby body Harry was sure such a fall would kill him. He didn't have the bones or muscle structure to survive such an impact. 

Thankfully, his ghosts would save him. 

That was when their panic penetrated his own, and they communicated that they'd been bouncing off some kind of field around Peter, trying and failing to get to Harry all this time the rat had been upstairs. 

"Harry! Be careful! We can't get close to you!" Hermione yelled. 

The baby's eyes widened in fright as he examined his captor, noting the cheap, junk jewelry, realizing suddenly that Peter was surrounded by every kind of protective amulet and warding charm that he could beg, borrow, or (most likely) steal. Most of those were old news, they'd never seen him without them, but some were new and one or more of those new ones must give protection against ghosts. 

That meant his friends couldn't use their powers anywhere near the amazing rat man. 

That meant he was going to die! 

"Harry, be calm!" Hermione ordered, instructing him, "More than once you've almost blasted yourself off into space using bursts of accidental magic. You can do this!" 

It was do it or die, Harry realized, as his captor began tossing him up one handed to catch him again, arm stuck way out the window. At once Harry realized that Peter was drunk, that he'd apparently found some booze in the kitchen and was even less competent than usual. Sooner or later he was going to miss a catch, and Harry would fall. 

No sooner had Harry realized that than Peter missed a hold and the baby boy went tumbling out of the traitor's grasp. Time stretched into a endless instant as Harry could see the panic in the rat man's eyes, to Peter furtively grasping about for his wand (only to realize he'd left it in the kitchen), then the traitor slowly getting cut off from view by the windowframe as Harry descended. 

Maybe, just maybe, Harry thought as he made his long descent, this could work out. Neville was dropped by his uncle out a window and he just bounced, proving that he had magic and wasn't a squib after all. 

Then again, Hermione wasn't wrong. Harry HAD flung himself into the sky once or twice on bursts of accidental magic. He'd done it when he was sunbathing beside his mom. He'd even done it in his first life to get to a school roof and away from Dudley's gang! 

In that instant, he decided to do it. 

Though Harry didn't know this, magical tradition held that a new life force carried with it enormous magical potential left over from its creation. That was only a theory of course, but one based on the observation that young creatures, particularly immature witches and wizards, often achieved feats that no seasoned and educated adult would attempt. 

However, it could also mean that their educational system sucked, but that wasn't a theory that made it into many textbooks, and it didn't earn any professorships. 

Harry's panic was running high, and his body WAS flush with magic, and he had flown before, albeit briefly and in short bursts. Belief was also a major factor in magic, and already hundreds of witches and wizards on both sides had heard that young Harry could fly. James had been particularly proud of that fact and spread it far and wide. 

Regardless, whatever embers may have been there, strewn by whatever means, got fanned into full flame by the emotional charge of Harry's approaching demise, and unlike most magical children who would have used such a burst to achieve momentary safety and release it, Harry, who had been concentrating on this effect, memorized the sensation of how he had achieved it, and his adult mind gave him control of it. 

After flying clear of the wards on the house, he apparated to London, flew into the magical opera house past amazed security guards, and plunked himself down in his mom's lap, interrupting the performance as cast and audience both stopped to stare at him. 

There would be a Daily Prophet article, complete with photographs, the next day. 

For once, Harry didn't mind. 

After about fifteen minutes, the show resumed and Harry got treated to the last half of his very first opera, magical or not. His ghosts joined him fifteen minutes after his own arrival, so caught the same parts he did. They'd apparently discovered they were able to sense him over long distances, and followed those sensations until they found him. 

Luna also informed him that, as they'd been listening to his thoughts at the moment of his discovery, his ghostly girlfriends had also experienced the same sensations he had, and thus also knew how to fly. 

She demonstrated, lifting herself up off the floor, but as she was a ghost this was hardly conclusive, seeing as how they could do that anyway. 

Harry was a model infant for the remainder of the show, never making a fuss or misbehaving at all. 

Once again, tomorrow came, and with it Dumbledore inspecting the house. The ghosts had carefully erased what signs of their presence they could, then left to visit a park for the day (or until Harry told them it was safe to return). Harry was on a leash, while James was laughing about the event to his buddies, unaware of how Pettigrew had endangered his son's life, simply thinking that his boy had missed his mother. 

Upon his arrival, Dumbledore, eyes a twinkling, set about the house sniffing for clues in that old grandfatherly way he had. Baby Harry, who had only just achieved the most tenuous occlumency shields, shut his eyes and feigned sleep the whole time. Thankfully his mother carried him around in her arms, so he was able to hear what they said, and transmit that directly to his ghostly friends so they could overhear also. 

Unfortunately, not much was said. Dumbledore chatted about the war news, asked for the opinions of Harry's parents on a topic or two, and for their take on certain people. It was far from the Master/Slave approach the Headmaster had used with Harry, but then he always sugarcoated that so even that hadn't seemed like it at the time, either. 

Once he was done poking around for a few minutes, Dumbledore said the words they had been dreading, "My friends, are you aware that you are being haunted?" 

Instant, crushing despair struck Harry and his ghosts. 

"No, Albus. What makes you say that?" Lily pressed Harry closer to her bosom. 

Though he could not see, Harry could easily imagine the twinkling grin on his old Headmaster's face. "Oh, you see, it has an unusual touch, but the signs are really quite unmistakable that you have at least one ghost in residence." 

"Well, there are always books out, laying open," James mused. 

"Ah," this time he could hear the twinkle! "A most unusual ghost indeed. Very few are able to move objects. In fact, Peeves is the only other one I know of. However, I mistrust a spirit that is unwilling to allow itself to be seen. More disturbing still is the fact that it has apparently absented itself, perhaps fearing my visit. Those two facts do not speak well of its intentions. Together, I'm afraid this ghost might not be friendly to you. Voldemort is not above using the dead to spy for him. Therefore, with your permission, I will expand the wards around your home to protect you." 

Harry's heart sunk down clear out of his chest as he heard his parents give that permission. His trio of ghostly girls started crying. He heard them over the link. 

Ginny tried to perk them up by sharing that in one of her historical romance books there was a ghost that could create various illusions. Now illusions were some of the rarest of all forms of magic, being practically unknown and unheard of today, but Ginny had gotten the ability to create some as a ghostly power. 

But even copying her on that didn't ease this tremendous blow. The ghosts were here for Harry, and being cut off from him was awful, worse than a return to Azkaban. But, no sooner did it happen than Hermione and Luna both stumbled over each other trying to suggest ways they could still be near him, read to him and help him. 

It was at that awful moment that a television screen in a nearby muggle shop window flared to brilliant life and a familiar goddess stepped out of it. 

"Urd!" all three ghost girls cried, flying over to her, their tears now mingled with relief. 

To everyone's surprise she smiled brilliantly back at them. 

That stopped the spirit maidens short. "Um, weren't you, like, upset last time?" Ginny asked. 

The goddess gave a negligent shrug, then casually explained. "As one of the Norns Fate is one of my areas of responsibility, and young Harry was, how was it that Thor put it?" she touched her chin in thought, then snapped her fingers. "Fate's whipping boy! That's how he put it. Occasionally we get a glitch where that happens, and I was feeling guilty just being around the boy. But so far you three have done a nice job at reversing that, which leads me to why I am here." 

Assuming a more formal pose, she gave the trio a half-bow. "Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, you have been deemed worthy due to your pure hearts, manifested in your selfless dedication to serving others. I am very pleased to inform you that I am here to grant you each one wish." 

"Pure what?" Luna asked. 

Her answer was a curiously lifted eyebrow. 

"Our hearts are pure what?" Luna repeated. During the interval since the goddess had last seen her, Lovegood had arranged her ghostly intestines into a turban she was now wearing. 

Urd laughed, then leaned forward teasing, "If you want to know the specifics, that will be your wish. Otherwise you'll have to deal with the summary, which is: pure goodness." 

"Is it sticky?" Luna continued asking. 

"No," Urd paused thoughtfully. "Though sometimes I wish it were so." 

"Wish for us to be able to rejoin Harry!" Ginny blurted, unable to restrain herself. 

Hermione shook her head, furiously scribbling on a scrap of paper with a half a pencil that had been lying around, lip bit between her teeth as she thought hard and fast. 

"How did Harry become Fate's whipping boy?" Lovegood asked of the goddess. 

Urd shrugged, her present happiness undimmed by the question as there was no hint of blame in the mind of the girl asking it. "Yggdrassil, the World Tree System that runs the universe, often gets bugs in it. They cause things that aren't supposed to happen, like electing a moron for an American President, or assigning way too much grief and pain for one mortal to receive. Trials and tribulations are part of the whole mortal setup, without them you'd stagnate and wouldn't achieve the purpose you were created for. But Harry got, here let me check the figures," the goddess opened a small device and read the screen. "Here it is, Harry got about thirty times more adversity in his life than normal maximums permit. It's a real tribute to the innate beauty of his spirit that he didn't crack, to be honest." 

Watching the goddess close her device and stow it, Luna nodded as if agreeing. "And how are these bugs resolved?" 

Urd blinked at her twice, suspecting something, and sprouted a large smile. "That's a nice thing to ask. You're about to wish for the bug causing Harry's life to go insane with trials and problems to be removed, aren't you? That's sweet. That's the kind of thing a girl with a pure heart does wish for, and about the only thing that makes this job worthwhile. Okay, my sisters and I, the Norns, are system debuggers. We've got powers that enable us to seek out and destroy system bugs, correcting their detrimental effects on Yggdrassil. But things have been kind of hectic of late, and bugs have been running out of control. So, you want me to go find the one that's been heaping bad luck on the boy you love?" 

Urd began rolling up her sleeves, until Luna shook her head no. 

"I wish for the Norns to have perfect control of all of their goddess powers from this moment forward and for all eternity." Luna continued calmly. 

Urd had a moment to look stunned before her head threw itself back and the energy beam of a divine data transmission got sent out to interface with Heaven's secure system. 

"Wish... approved," Urd squeaked out, sinking down to her knees in shock. 

Luna began to braid the goddess' hair for her, and explained. "You see, this way I believe the suffering of the whole world will reduce, as well as Harry's. Since you three will be able to control the bugs more readily than you have done." 

Urd opened and closed her jaw several times, acting out a fair impression of a koi. 

"So... Harry's life will get better now?" Ginny ventured to guess. 

"It's still going to take a while to reduce the backlog," Urd dazedly muttered, before an excited Hermione thrust her scrap of paper into her face. 

"Here! This is what I wish for!" 

"A sale at Nordstroms?" Urd read the flyer. 

"No!!" panicking, the ghost turned the sheet over to where the goddess could read her tightly packed tracks composed of thin lines of pencil writing. 

"New bodies? Are you sure?" The platinum haired beauty raised her eyes from skimming the wish to glance at the wish receiver. 

"I want all of us to be alive." Hermione explained, panting in her excitement. "And I wouldn't mind being prettier... Oh! It's all spelled out in there! I've been working on what I'd wish for for months and months in case this ever happened to me." 

"I hate to be the one to break this to you, kiddo, but Heaven and lawyers don't mix very well. Trying to cover everything in ultra-specific detail is often worse than the most careless off the cuff wish." Urd glanced up over the flyer, having started reading. 

"Please," Hermione pled, "be kind to me. Things didn't go too well the first time and I wound myself all up in knots over how I'd do it if I had a wish of my own. I've thought for months over just how to put it, and memorized it so much that I could recite it in my sleep, if I ever slept anymore. I want to be Harry's age, and more beautiful, but above all I want my friends and I to be alive again, with new bodies and in perfect health. I just... I wrote it all down in case I ran out of breath or something." 

Nodding, Urd went back to reading Hermione's wish. Upon reaching the end, her head got thrown back by the force of the light beam erupting from her forehead, and just as quickly it was over. 

Hermione was panicking and close to freaking out. "Why aren't we alive?!?!" 

"Calm yourself," Urd soothed, gently stroking the girl's hair. "You will be. This was just so complicated a wish it was deemed better to have me guide you through each step of the way than flash it all to completion." 

All three ghosts let out metaphorical breaths they hadn't known they'd been holding. 

End Part Three 


	4. Chapter 4

Reflections Through Time   
Chapter Four 

by Lionheart 

Author's Rant:   
Probably the saddest thing about Harry Potter fanfiction is that those stories where every single person betrays him flow so easily, and the ones where anything at all goes right for him seem so forced. 

But then, what has Rowling done to make him happy? There were a few moments in Book 1, like where he discovered magic or made his first ever friends. But lately those friends... sigh, it's so believable when a fan-author has them turn on Harry, sell him out or otherwise betray him. And you don't have to stretch the imagination at all for the Ministry to be performing something unspeakably vile and unfair to hurt him, as that's straight out of the original! It's like connecting Hermione and books, that's just what they do! 

The original author has built a series in which hurting Harry seems to be the only thing that all sides agree on. How twisted is that? 

Disclaimer: I want you to carefully consider what you've been smoking if you think any of these characters belong to me. 

---- 

"Where are we going?" Hermione bobbed around excitedly as the goddess guided them back to the TV set she'd emerged from. 

"The Malfoy Manor first," Urd soberly replied. 

The Granger girl went pale with shock. "But that's not what I wished for. I wanted us to be integrated with our past selves, like Harry was." 

Urd met her concerned gaze with a kindly expression. "But you didn't wish to be integrated with your younger selves, Hermione. You wanted new bodies. I did ask if you were so sure on that." 

"I... I didn't know what it would mean." The Granger girl trembled. 

"Now, now." The goddess comforted. "I am doing what I can to mitigate your errors somewhat. You know, this is why an off the cuff wish is better. With some room to interpret we can give you what you really want instead of what you spelled out in excruciating detail. And not knowing how Heaven or the wish system works, you don't know the right things to say, so you can't describe it in the kind of language that would get you what you want, the way you want it, as well as we could. But I'll do what I can to make things turn out as well for you as I can, alright?" 

Turning directly to face the trio, Urd kindly soothed, "It won't be so bad. This way you dodge one of the major downsides people get through integrating with their past selves (if they don't want to change everything, that is) which is boredom. You all just wanted to live the same lives over again, for the most part. But what hurts the most for those who do that is nothing is challenging, nothing new, when you've already lived that same life before. The same trips happen, you get the same presents, the same people come over to visit, and those few who have asked for it describe it as one of the worst aspects of the experience. It is encoded in your souls to want to grow, and stagnating is one of the worst punishments you can get. People who have gone that route end up tearing their former lives apart, not making the friends they once did, or achieving the same victories, just because the boring down times got to them so badly they began lashing out to make anything different. It may not be what you wanted, but I'll do what I can to make this wish turn out even better than the one you were intending, alright?" 

With a brilliant smile, she added, "Who knows? Maybe this really might have turned out better than the wish you were intending, anyway. Still, I'd love to help it along." Putting one foot inside the screen of the TV set, the display became a brilliant surge of colors. Urd then held out a hand to the ghosts, indicating they should follow her. One by one, they did. Once the last had entered, Urd went the rest of the way through herself. 

On the other side they emerged from an enchanted painting on the wall of a great and darkly decorated home. "I thought we were going to have to emerge from the village and fly to the Malfoy home. I know the Malfoys don't have a fellymission set." Ginny mused. 

"Moving pictures are moving pictures," Urd gave her a distracted reply, scanning their environment. 

"If you knew what we wanted, why didn't you grant us life on the first wish?" Luna penetrated the goddess with her gaze. 

Urd glanced back at her. "Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't at my best. I was uncomfortable and just wanted out of there. So I took a shorthand route to getting done. It was unfair, and I apologize. If Heaven hadn't authorized Hermione's wish and obligated performance of it by the Ultimate Force, I would have probably have snuck through a full completion of what you wanted the first time and integrated you with your younger selves. But now I won't be able. So I'll have to promise you a favor to be named later, seeing as how Hermione basically lost her wish trying to get what I should've granted you the first time." 

"A favor?" Ginny asked. 

"By rights, it properly belongs to Hermione," the goddess clarified. "And it will be on my own powers, not the wish system. So it's not really a full value replacement. But it is the best I can do." 

Urd glanced at her cell phone, as if expecting a call. When nothing happened, she shrugged, seeming bemused as she led them off through the manor. 

They passed through a wall, appearing at the head of a set of secret stairs leading down to a hidden sub-basement. Once at the bottom, they saw figures they recognized as the Malfoy family arranged around a curiously formed altar dressed in ceremonial robes. A one-year-old Draco was sitting back by the wall on a deeply green plush cushion, while in it's mother's arms was another baby, just days old. 

Everything was frozen. Candles refused to flicker, and it was obvious to the three ghosts that they were watching a scene on pause, stopped between the ticks of time. 

Urd began an explanation without prompting. "The ancient Purebloods are crazy about magical purity in their bloodlines. Thus the highly imaginative name. However, in their quest for that it leads to some dark practices we do not approve of. This is one of them. In order to avoid the embarrassment of a squib being born into the family, the more fanatical ones test their children for power only a few days after their birth, where they place a baby in danger of various forms to see if its innate magic will protect it at all. If it does not, they destroy it, rather than have a child grow up who wouldn't be a proper witch or wizard." 

Urd frowned at the frozen scene, not acknowledging the gasps from ghosts behind her. She continued in disapproving tones. "This one is a test based on the four elements. It is believed that if they dunk a child in water it will float via magic rather than drown, or the fire will not burn it. Basically, they give their own kid four chances to do something magical or get hurt. If it fails each time they destroy it. Nevermind the fact that some of the best magical children wouldn't respond to such things because their gifts aren't aimed toward that sort of threat. How you'd know if your kid is a seer from that kind of test is beyond me. But they are sure these disgusting practices are what will make them strong." 

"What... what is going to happen here?" Hermione asked, googly-eyed. 

The goddess sighed. "In your original timeframe? This girl failed all four tests, and Lucius Malfoy blasted her to pieces. The shock was bad enough his wife lost her ability to have more children, so Draco became an only child. It failed to significantly change how he turned out." 

"Why are we here?" Ginny probed, fearful of herself. 

A platinum head drooped. "Because the way the Ultimate Force resolved to fulfill Hermione's wish calls for each of you to be given new bodies, placed in circumstances that fill holes which otherwise would have formed, saving lives where possible. One of you will be displacing this child. She will be sent off to another family, probably as someone's twin. And whichever one of you chooses to take over for her will get a brand new infant body in her position. Each family will be made to believe the girl they receive is their daughter." 

She raised a hand to cut Hermione off and favored her with a kindly smile. "Don't call in your favor now, kiddo. I'm already going to do all I can to make everything bearable for each of you. But the instructions I received were to fill three certain slots, that's not up to me to change at this point." 

Instead, Hermione licked ghostly dry lips and asked, "What is her name?" 

Her response was a kind but sad smile. "The Malfoys don't believe in naming their kids until they've passed a test like this one. But in her heart, the child's mother wants to give her the name Pomona. However, she'll almost certainly be overruled by her husband, who wants to call a daughter Anastasia." 

"I will take over this position," Luna volunteered. 

"Why?" both her friends blurted, horrified at the thought. 

They were answered with a somewhat off smile. "To save you both from being Malfoys, of course." 

A bit humbled by her sacrifice for them, they meekly nodded. 

"Besides," Luna continued. "I want to see if it is really true that dryads frolicking in her private woods is what drove Druzella Malfoy mad enough to paint her son orange when he was ten, and address all of his Hogwarts mail to: Carrot-Top." 

"Yes," Urd calmly replied. "They didn't like her a bit, but it traumatized Lucius for life to have his mother do that to him. To this day he's deathly afraid of dryads and doesn't go out into forests if he can help it." 

Ginny and Hermione spent a moment gaping, while Luna issued forth another smile, this one flavored with a hint of triumph. 

Urd was regarding Luna seriously. "Now, you know you are magical already, but in order to make this test more bearable for you I've decided to grant you one of the lost gifts of magic, one that Father hasn't sent to anyone for awhile because of past abuses." 

"What abuses?" Ginny probed, glad it wasn't her in danger. 

"What gift?" Hermione also probed, more out of curiosity for her friend's future. 

Well-tanned shoulders gave a tiny shrug. "A Firelord, in this case lady. You see it in comic books a fair amount. The most famous historical one was named Bridgette, and the Celts confused her for a goddess of fire. They tend to get involved in wars alot, as their magical gift lends itself to combat better than most. Father stopped sending them when the last one got fed to a beast as a baby in a test alot like this one, by parents believing that a child who couldn't soothe a hungry wolf was obviously nonmagical." 

Urd made a disgusted face. "Just like people like the Malfoys have destroyed beast-speakers in tests alot like the one they're doing now." 

Giving herself a small shake, Urd turned her attention to Luna. "You'll still look like you did before, with some modifications as per Hermione's wish. So, are there any questions before you take the plunge?" 

Luna nodded. "Was Draco the first born?" 

One could easily tell Urd did not like the topic, but she answered it. "No, he was third. But the first two children failed their tests, just as this one would have done. Anything else, say, on a happier topic?" 

Luna smiled softly. "Why are children so apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down? Or when someones marry their everyones, laugh their crying and do their dance, they say their nevers and sleep their dreams?" 

Suddenly laughing, Urd leaned forward and whispered in the ghost's ear, bringing a sudden bright twinkling of understanding to Luna's eyes. 

"When a felon's not engaged in his employment, when a criminal's not occupied in crime, their capacity for innocent enjoyment, is it as great as any honest man?" she asked. 

"No," the goddess told her frankly. "I don't have a good analogy for it, really. But to the extent you fill yourself up with a desire for good things, to that same extent you can't tolerate the bad, and vice versa. There's no mixing. Those who give themselves over to evil lose those parts that are able to appreciate the simple joys. They burn them away, and seek their pleasure in less innocent pursuits." 

Luna nodded. "Do fairies truly get addicted easily to mugwort syrup? And do they truly smell it and seek it out for miles?" 

"No, on both counts," Urd shook her head. "But the wizard who thought so had a three year old daughter who'd cast a charm with his wand that caused the jello pudding of his muggle neighbor to do the same thing. He'd just ascribed that effect to the wrong source." 

Luna nodded. "I am ready." 

Her two friends eyes were bugging out over her choices of questions. 

Urd looked at them, puzzled. "What? Everything she asked was perfectly relevant. Narcissa is scared to death of fairies. If her daughter knows something to attract them, she can get all of the private time she wants by dodging into a forest, where Lucius would never go, and calling some fairies, which her mother cannot stand to get close to. That makes it almost not an issue to have evil people for parents, because she can protect herself from them at need." 

"I'm sorry," Ginny ventured. "We're just not used to someone who understands what Luna means when she says anything." 

Hermione nodded, agreeing. "We've been close to her for years and only about half of her statements make any sense." 

Urd gave a negligent shrug. "Then you need to learn to listen better." 

Not waiting for another question, the platinum haired goddess raised a hand toward the infant in its mother's arms, which vanished in a flash of light. An instant later, Luna the ghost was gone and a fresh new baby was in Narcissa Malfoy's embrace, looking (being honest here) alot like the baby that had just vanished. 

Time was no longer on pause and the scene progressed. 

A tremulous Narcissa, filled with concern and fear, handed her child over to Lucius who, with some ancient chants full of self-congratulatory phrases instead of magic effects, moved to plunge his child into the water. 

From her new perspective Luna could see that Lucius, now her father, was missing an eye. The recent injury of a gaping, empty socket leered at her, and she made that known to her friends before using her new divine gift to send a cone of fire into the man's face, searing the flesh of his chest and hands - a cone that was cut off abruptly as the man dropped her, stumbling back, and Luna got dunked into the water. 

Narcissa fished her out instantly, getting her ceremonial robes soaking as she did so, and only then looked over in concern towards her husband, whose injuries were not as bad as they might have been. 

"I think little Pomona proved herself, don't you darling?" 

Her husband scowled, but there was some cheer there as well. Already he was planning on what to do with a daughter who could produce flames. A rare gift indeed! But he recovered enough to scoff, "Pomona? A nymph who grew trees? Ridiculous! She will have a name to reflect her glory, equal to an empress! She shall be called Anastasia!" 

"Anastasia Pomona Malfoy?" Narcissa ventured, trying to settle for second place with a middle name of her choosing instead of nothing, which Lucius was far more than likely to leave her. 

The murderer considered turning down her request just for the sheer maliciousness of doing it, then conceded. "Very well, but she shall have one more name to reflect a power that shall make our enemies fear and tremble, and remind them of our proud ancestry. She shall be called Anastasia Bridgette Pomona Malfoy, and any mudbloods who know our history ought to take warning at the reminder of why our ancestry makes us more powerful than they!" 

"Quite pompous, isn't he?" Luna giggled over their shared mental link. 

"Draco was worse," Hermione answered, with a grin. "He was every bit as arrogant, yet not half so intelligent, so he kept acting a buffoon, only he MEANT it! And he expected everyone to treat him as if he was as witty and clever as his father." 

"Lucius was a cunning bastard, but that didn't save him in the end." Ginny shrugged. 

"Well, I hope the next family will at least name their kids before trying to kill them." Hermione tried on some false cheer. 

Urd pretended not to care. "I wasn't the one to choose the slots you'll be filling. If it was up to me I never would have made any one of you a Malfoy. But I think you'll find that none of the rest are quite so challenging as Luna's new future." 

"Where are we going next? And will Luna be alright?" Hermione pled. 

Urd shot her a golden smile, reassuring her, "Our baby Bridgette there will be just fine. There's nothing more stressful than a diaper change on the books for her for months. So you can rest easy on her account, and you can keep in touch with that mind-link you have." 

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Hermione followed the goddess out of the secret underground chamber and up the steps, out the wall, and into the closest painting, Ginny tagging along behind listening to every word they said. "How is it that when we got our telepathic ability it only worked between us and Harry? We'd been trying to pass messages along to others, but never could get any results." 

"Strictly speaking, it's not full-fledged telepathy, only a mind-link," Urd spoke as she led them out of a monitor inside of a muggle hospital. "We approve of those for ghosts, on the whole, but very few use them. As you well know, ghosts are the spirits of the departed who refuse to leave the mortal realm for some reason or other. Most don't even know their own reasons for staying, except a vague feeling of connection or a fear of going on causing them to linger. In essence, what you did was to bond yourselves to young Harry, making him your reason for staying. The moment he died, you'd all pass on together, which we find cleans up the ghost population nicely, so any spirit willing to can do so. To encourage more to do it... well, that's why you get advantages like sharing a mental link with him, and knowing where he is and how he's doing at all times. It's mostly sugar coating on a cake. Ghosts can't progress until they pass on, and a few centuries of boredom is enough to encourage most to cross the veil, but one mortal's lifetime is a much shorter period than a few centuries and better for everyone involved; so those we can get to use the shortcut are welcome to it." 

Urd paused at the door to a hospital room, a surgery. "The whole mortal experience was set up to be to your benefit, you know. The whole thing still is, except where bugs or demons get involved, and even those have set limits where they don't often cause too much trouble. It may not feel like it at times, but Heaven cares deeply about each and every one of you guys down here." 

More humbled by that statement than they'd expected to be, the two ghosts gave her each a soft nod and followed her into the room. Time was stopped, as before, but the scene was one slightly unexpected. 

"A C-section," Urd explained, having crossed her arms and leaning against a wall. "The baby has water on the brain, which makes a normal delivery impossible as the kid's head has grown too big for the birth canal. What they don't know is that the child also has a complex heart condition, which means that between them there is nothing muggle science can do to save the child's life - either one, yes; together, no. She'll live a couple of weeks at most unless someone like us intervenes." 

"So... what is our plan, then?" Hermione ventured enough to ask. 

The goddess shone forth a brilliant smile, leaning forward suddenly to favor both ghosts with her gladness. "Why, intervene, of course! The magical community has potions and charms that can fix this kid up with ease, so our plan is to switch her out to be the twin of someone about to be born there right about now. St Mungo's Healers will save her life with nary a concern, and one of you will take over her position here." Urd winked and raised a finger. "No health problems, just like you wished. The doctors won't know why the girl will come out with a clean bill of health when the ultrasounds said otherwise, but I'm told there are alot of those unresolved mysteries in medicine," Urd stopped to consider, touching her chi in thought, "probably because we do alot of intervening in cases, I'd guess." 

"There are still alot of deaths in the world, and suffering," Hermione hedged. 

The golden tanned goddess shrugged, then roundly pierced the ghostly girl with her eye. "Didn't I just say that the mortal experience was set up for your benefit? Death is part of that experience, isn't it? Believe me, you don't know how much of a blessing it is that life has an end. Immortality would be the worst curse you could give anyone, and I mean worst. As you already know, your spirits, memories, and everything that makes up you still exists after you die and lose your body. What you don't know is what awaits you once you cross over. Having been there, I believe I can say that it's pretty pleasant. There's a reason we call it Heaven, you know." 

Gulping, both ghosts nodded. 

"And the suffering is mostly your own fault, caused by people against other people. You don't know how sad that makes us sometimes." The goddess shook her head over her folded arms. "When it gets too bad we generally have to wipe out the offending culture to prevent it from contaminating everything else. Voldemort had gotten things to that point before you came back into the past. Father had already called for a meteorite to strike that portion of the Earth, turning Europe into an island chain and putting a stop to his madness." Pausing, the goddess considered. "Hopefully, you and Harry will succeed in destroying him early and we won't have to do that again." 

Opening her closed eyes, the Norn regarded them again. "But if you read of a once great civilization that's fallen, that's generally the reason why. We don't do meteorites all that often, but plagues or barbarian hordes generally do just as well, and don't mess up the land so people can't live there afterward." 

Thinking about the Middle East, she paused, again considering. "Well, not too often at any rate. I don't know why it was so fashionable for so long to cap wells and poison streams, sowing salt into your enemy's fields to turn everything into a desert, but it was." 

"Getting back to the topic at hand," the bookworm reminded, "could you tell us more about this situation? What is life going to be like for whichever one of us take over this girl's position?" 

"Parents are muggles, obviously," Urd accepted the change of topic. "If either had been magical our help wouldn't have been required. Their file says they are physicists, and this birth messes up the mother's womb enough she won't be able to have any more kids. The couple are loving, if a touch distant. Being workaholics is pretty much their only major flaw. They have a house in Scotland, and one in London. They would have another couple on the European Continent if not for security at their workplace insisting they stay on British soil as much as possible. When they travel, it's always with guards." 

"Why does that remind me so much of Snape?" Ginny asked. 

Hermione looked at her curiously, and the redhead elaborated, "During the Second Rise, our old Potions Professor wasn't allowed out very much. When he objected in the most obsequious way imaginable, Voldemort had his legs cut off. Then he told him that he lived to create potions, and that if he failed in any way to please his Lord in that service he would disembowel him and treat his guts with toxic ungeants so he'd discover a whole new world of pain before he died." 

Hermione could only snort. "I wouldn't trust a man like him either. I swear that greasy bully was playing both sides off against the other. He was a Death Eater, 'turned Light' by reports I've heard, however he must have been an enemy agent all along to have killed Dumbledore at the start of the Second Rise, like he did." 

Urd closed her eyes, folded her arms again, and leaned back against a wall to shut out the world as she explained. "To become a Death Eater you have to commit an act of murder, of a muggle or other enemy, using an illegal curse, before witnesses in the forms of other Death Eaters, or Voldemort himself if you're important enough. A Dark Mark is nearly impossible to remove because they use the necromantic energies of that death to fuel the spell implanting it on the willing subject receiving it. It's impossible to get one any other way, not by Imperius curse or possession or any other method. The one getting it has to want it, and want it enough to murder in cold blood for it. You can't be fooled or confused or controlled and get one. You aren't going to wake up after getting drunk and find you have one, unless you are that type of person who kills people and joins secret dark cults in their sleep anyway. That mark is reserved for Voldemort's willing followers alone, because it can't be given to anybody else, and it gives him an extraordinary measure of control over those who accept it. An ancient magical contract is built into a mark's basic design, and those who receive one essentially become Tom Riddle Jr's slaves." 

Urd opened her eyes briefly to give the girls a serious stare. "Naturally, he doesn't tell them that part. He never has, nor does he intend to. But his ability to find them if they try to escape from him, and their inability to turn their magic against him, are all aspects of that ancient slavery contract." 

Their guide leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes again, and resumed speaking. "That a person has a mark tells you they are already a murderer, and though they don't know it, they have sold themselves away to become the property of the even worse murderer who leads them. Since they can't use magic against him, or any of his marked agents that he sends after them, they are essentially helpless if he decides to kill them. So very few ever choose to disobey his orders, and because the Mark lets him find them no matter where they go or try to hide, those who do disobey don't live very long. He doesn't let his property escape his power." 

The goddess took a deep breath, only to let it out in a sigh without once opening her lovely eyes, trying hard to ignore the subject matter of what she was talking about. "Snape never once disobeyed Voldemort. He approached Dumbledore to 'spy for the Light' only because Voldemort had ORDERED him to do exactly that! When the Headmaster took in his former student, accepting him and his sob story with open arms, Voldemort gained what he was after all along: his own loyal spy in the Order of the Phoenix. 

"Dumbledore trusted 'his' new man and Voldemort didn't. Albus shared with his new agent special secrets to prove his trust in him, and Tom restricted what knowledge Snape had access to, knowing full well that anything shared with the spy had a chance to be told to the other side. Because of this one-way flow of information, Voldemort neutralized the threat of the Order to him, because he always knew their major plans ahead of time. Since he could read minds, it didn't matter if Snape was told everything or not. Dumbledore encouraged his people to socialize and make friends with each other, but didn't teach them how to defend their minds from Snape's probes, so Voldemort's spy was able to learn just about everything the Order did or knew. It was at that point that the resistance of the magical world began to fail for the final time." 

Once again Urd opened her eyes and met those of her audience. "Harry was our answer to that. Something like that meteor, but less drastic. It was a miracle that allowed him to survive that curse by reflecting it back on his attacker, and we gave it to the magical world so they would have a chance to win the war. Sadly, they chose not to and wasted the time we gave them trying to forget it had ever happened instead of finishing off the ones who'd brought it on them, while they could. People make those kind of choices sometimes." 

"Harry, are you hearing this?" A stunned Hermione whispered. 

"Yes, Hermione, I am," his voice sounded over their link. "So my mom didn't have to die to protect me against that curse! Dumbledore was wrong about that after all!" 

"Dumbledore was wrong about many things." Urd said cryptically. "Have none of you ever wondered why Snape ate in the Great Hall? That man despised his students. He hated them all, only concealing that for a precious few he felt he could turn into useful tools by showing a little favoritism." The goddess flicked back her hair in anger. "The school rules didn't require Professors to eat with the students. That woman who failed to teach anything useful about Divination wasn't seen outside of her tower more than once a year on average. So why did the one man who hated everyone around him bother to socialize?" 

Both ghosts blinked in confusion, puzzling over this, until Urd gave them the answer. "It was because he was a brewer of potions, and the cups and plates were set out at every meal long before the food or guests arrived. A thin film around a glass or on the handle of a fork never did get noticed, but had a powerful effect on the behavior of whoever used them - and certain place settings were always used by certain people. Students milled around too much to dose with any accuracy, but a certain Headmaster TRUSTED his 'converted' Death Eater more than those who had been serving him years longer, more than all the rest combined, really. Who do you think he was listening to when he came up with the plan to leave Harry with the Dursleys? Who was in the Headmaster's office convincing him there was nothing he could do to stop the abuses that baby suffered? Why did a Headmaster never appear to notice or care what a certain Potions Professor was doing to his students? Despite the fact that it was so unethical that schools have been CLOSED DOWN over lesser offenses! Why? Because, to quote a certain teacher, he could "bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses." Why do you think he bragged that he could bottle fame or brew glory when he only had a lousy teaching job and a crummy house in a ruined neighborhood, while the real Potions Masters lived on their own in much better circumstances?" 

Once again they felt her eyes on them. "He was the worst Professor that school ever had. I know. I checked. He never even should have gotten a Potion Mastery, but was able to cheat on the test. But despite that he got away with anything he chose to do. Now given how he so openly flaunts his ability to defy every professional standard, do any of you think that he could have protected his rotten behavior an HONEST way? Or do you concede that the only way he could get away with this would be to cheat, and do something sneaky and underhanded?" 

"If you add hurtful, sneaky and underhanded describes everything he ever did." Ginny quipped. 

"Back to the topic at hand, could you tell us how this couple would raise their daughter?" Hermione interjected, hope springing in her breast. 

The Norn averted her eyes, almost embarrassed. "Mostly... they don't," she finished in a quiet voice. "Oh, they'll do all of the basics, feed and clothe her just fine. But their major flaw IS a flaw, they focus on their work to the exclusion of all else. Neither one of the couple would notice or care about going to work for months wearing the same clothes, so they have a maid service to take care of the cleaning and the washing, and they'll hire new ones to look after the baby. Maybe they'll notice her as she grows up, but more than likely they won't. Sometime after they retire they'll open their eyes to discover they are grandparents or something. About that point they'll start to wake up to the fact that they've missed out on their only daughter's entire life, but don't expect that to happen for another forty years at least. Sixty is more likely." 

"I'll take this life," Ginny volunteered. 

"But why?" Hermione queried, openly puzzled. 

Ginny shrugged happily. "Didn't Urd just tell us that the worst danger of living your life over again was boredom and feeling stagnated? Can you imagine anything any more different from my first childhood? Life at the Burrow was tight, with shared bedrooms and a huge family in your face all of the time. Mom fussed over us constantly, and I was swimming in brothers, not to mention we were Purebloods. I couldn't picture anything more different from my last upbringing than to be an only daughter of absent muggles, unless it was to have a couple of sisters, I guess." 

"Also, this couple is rich, and you were poor," Urd softly muttered, examining a wall. 

"Well, yes, there is that." Ginny blushed silver. 

"Uhm, okay I guess. I do hope you'll be happy," Hermione smiled for her friend. 

"If you want different, this would be it," Luna agreed, proving she was listening over the link. "However, don't overspice yourself." 

"...variety is the spice of life..." Hermione muttered. "I think I understood that." 

"I'd still like to give it a try," Ginny reaffirmed. 

"Well, if that's okay with the rest of you," the goddess raised her hand once more and the ghostly Ginny was gone. Time resumed just as the operating room techs brought a new baby forth from the cut in her mother's tummy. 

"Come along," Urd whispered. "They'll be awhile discovering that she hasn't got any health problems despite what the instruments said before they pulled her out, and you and I still have one more house to visit." 

"I guess... whatever this turns out to be, I'm stuck with it." the ghostly girl muttered. 

Her response was a brilliantly reassuring grin. "I'm sure you'll like it. In many ways I saved the best for last. Your parents aren't openly evil or obsessive compulsive worker bees, the situation is comfortable, and your circumstance close to ideal for a healthy growing up period. There are one or two minor little drawbacks, but nothing on the scale the other two have to deal with." 

"So who are we going to go see?" The brainiac questioned, feeling reassured. 

"The Greengrass family," Urd told her, just as they arrived through a portrait at that family's estate. "Ancient Purebloods, but ones who carefully horded their neutrality during Voldemort's First Rise and long into the Second. They have kind of the opposite problem the Malfoy's were concerned with." 

"You don't mean we're going to visit another ritual room, are you?" the girl swallowed in disgust. 

Urd regarded her seriously. "They have one such room on this estate, but it's been something on the order of a century since it was last used to test a child. No, there are two problems that generally terrify the ancient families. One is giving birth to an unsuitable baby like a squib, as you saw. The present Greengrasses aren't Dark enough to worry about that, they'd just give her up to a muggle adoption agency if she hadn't displayed any magic growing up, and claim she died in an accident rather than kill her. The other difficulty ancient families get is having no children to carry on the lineage at all. They are having that problem." 

The Granger girl was puzzled, objecting, "But they do have a daughter! Daphne was in our class at Hogwarts! Unless... you mean a different branch of the Greengrass line is who we are visiting?" 

"No," the goddess shook her head politely. "You are quite correct, and this is that same family. However, Daphne was not born to them as their daughter. You see, ancient and proud families don't admit to having embarrassing offspring problems. When they do have a difficulty, they take care of it as secretly as possible. However, with the current war going on and so many magical families getting destroyed, it's not hard to buy a baby from a Death Eater who didn't quite finish killing off an entire magical family like he was supposed to." 

"That's terrible!!" Hermione cried out, horrified. 

Her response was a careless shrug. "You'll find extremes are the rule when you get any group of people obsessed about being a master race. They do every kind of trick to avoid being caught as being ever-so-slightly less pure than anyone else, when the fact of the matter is that none of them are as 'pure' as they pretend to be, almost like a bunch of baboons trying to pretend that their bottoms aren't blue, covering their own while pointing out others'. It's hilarious when you aren't caught up in it personally." 

"I think our being here is proof enough I'm going to be caught up in them," the girl pointed out glumly. 

"True enough, but think of the good you'll be doing for others!" The goddess tried to cheer her. "Because you'll be taking over this position for the express purpose of saving a life, James Potter will get another glowing, ghostly warning in time to save the family of one of his friends. The girl who ought to have become Daphne will instead be allowed to grow up with her natural parents and siblings, their lives all having been spared." 

That was mollifying somewhat. "But still, won't you need something like that to put me into this family's care? How will you insert me?" 

Abruptly, she noted the goddess was no longer wearing her sexy, filmy attire, but a body-hugging cloak with a hood, out of which she peered, smiling at her charge. "No one in these exchanges likes to be recognized. Usually the family on the receiving end asks only two questions: health and gender. They'd prefer a boy to carry on the family name but will take whatever they can get. You being a girl will mean only two things, they'll pay a slightly lower price for you, and they'll stay in the market for a boy if one comes up for sale. One doesn't - at least not before this current war ends and the market for magical orphans dries up from rocketing prices over lack of a readily concealable supply. Any questions?" 

"Yes, how will they pass me off as their daughter when I'll probably look nothing like them?" 

"An inheritance ritual. There are a number of non-Dark ones for use in adoptions like this one. Any child they got would end up looking like their own. The Purebloods have had an interest in concealing acts like this one for a long time, and they've developed a whole library of spells to use, each one improved over the last. One major benefit for you is that you'll have all of your own magical gifts, plus those you might've inherited from these two if they were your actual parents." A platinum haired head paused in thought. "Though, the one they are likely to use on you will cause that any lineage detection spells will discover only your adopted family, not your true bloodline. I suppose I could give you just about any heritage, and they'd never know." 

Hermione grimaced. "For all of their talk about honor and glory, I'd take being a muggleborn over a pureblood any day." 

The goddess had to agree. "Yes. When no flaw is acceptable, people don't stop having them, they just start concealing them. However, I've got to agree with you that the families of muggleborns are generally far more upstanding than purebloods who've been hiding their dirty laundry for centuries. On the surface they've got a perfect image, but once you poke though that cover the accumulated foulness underneath gets unbelievably bad. And that kind of hiding your dirty laundry inevitably soils you, it can canker the soul." 

"So... how does a person get born with magic?" the girl asked a question that had been bothering her a long time. 

The goddess grinned at her. "Can you keep a secret?" 

"Yes." 

"Promise not to tell?" 

"Uh huh," the ghostly girl nodded, becoming quite intrigued. 

Urd was suddenly casual. "Anyone can do it. Some are noticeably more talented than others. There are many who are gifted, while others have limitations, many have a great deal more difficulty learning than some, and most are never granted an opportunity to learn. But if you compared it to, say, languages: there are some who pick them up easily and readily, others who understand more from their background, and a few poor souls who have lots of trouble learning any. But granted enough opportunity and instruction, anyone could learn. Those who are gifted are liable to be much more fluent more easily, that's all. What the magical society around here does is throw away all of those who find they have the least trouble learning. Many of those they've called squibs would have been great witches or wizards, they just had trouble getting started." 

The goddess stared at her stunned companion. "Einstein was flunked out of his math class, you know. His teacher said he had no talent or aptitude at all. Now which do you believe was correct: his teacher, or all of Einstein's scientific papers covered with ground-breaking equasions and theories spelled out in math?" 

Shaking her hair out, she added, "But no, if you are a late bloomer in current magical culture, they assume you have no ability at all, and tell you so, so much and so often, that by the time your gift would normally have developed you are already so convinced you can't that you don't try. Being convinced you can't is most of what's required for it to be impossible. And, for those who are never exposed, those they call muggles, it is a bit like learning how to swim if you've never been exposed to water. There's no real opportunity to try. Most of the muggleborn children had close brushes with Obliviators or other magical events early on, like living close to a magical building or household, and just picked something up." 

Hermione started laughing, and Urd lifted an eyebrow at her. 

"It's just... bwahahaha!! I've been... snort... a pureblood my entire life and never knew it!" The ghostly maiden laughed. 

"Well, of course! Everyone is." Urd smiled warmly at her. "There are no non-magical people, so everyone is a pureblooded witch or wizard. Most just don't know how to use magic, that's all." 

"That's hilarious!" Hermione continued laughing. 

"So, are you ready to join your new life? They're going to name you Daphne, just so you know." 

"Yes, that's fine." 

Smiling, Urd suddenly had a swaddled baby in her arms, and, pulling the hood close about her head, went in to meet the family. The infant still burbled its amusement from her arms. 

End Part Four 


	5. Chapter 5

Reflections Through Time   
Chapter Five 

by Lionheart 

Author's Diseased Ranting:   
My first real 'Thump' in reading the HP series was at the end of Book 3, where evil triumphs in the typical end of year struggle. 

Evil triumphs? Why yes. The real murderer, Peter Pettigrew, gets away and Sirius is forced to remain a fugitive, while Snape almost gets an Order of Merlin for turning him in. A quick act of damage control by Harry and Hermione prevent things from going even worse, but it doesn't remedy the core problem. Then the escaped murderer does what Voldemort had been trying and failing to do for the first two books of the series - starts the process of restoring the Dark Lord's body. 

That counts as a win for evil, if not more than one. 

A HP factbook I own points out that, right before the big, revelatory conversation in the Shrieking Shack where all the gritty details get revealed at last, and the mystery is put to rest, a door moves on its own. Some of the characters look at it, but pass it off as nothing and then go launching into the great exposing of secrets. Immediately as they are done with exposing Sirius' innocence, however, Snape appears with a wand out to arrest him, and won't listen to any pleas or explanations. 

Once that was pointed out I reread that section and yes, I believe that Rowling was hinting that Snape was there as a witness to the entire conversation. He's just evil enough to know the truth and not care one bit about it, wanting to destroy his childhood nemesis while he had a chance, and more than willing to get a prestigious award in the bargain. Snape also exposed Remus as a werewolf, costing him his teaching position, as another jab at his old rivals. That much is stated explicitly. 

Regardless of that, however, from that moment at the end of Book 3 to the present, there has not been one true, unvarnished success for the Light side in this entire conflict. The bad guys seem to able to achieve plenty, but nothing's gone right for the Light, at least not without severe loss or consequences. It is almost as if the person who wrote the first two books wasn't even present for the writing of books 4 and on. Certainly her core characters have changed from the inquisitive and able, lucky and plucky crew she began with to something I honestly want to squash under my boot. 

Disclaimer: As badly as she's mangled them, the HP characters still belong to Rowling. Somebody call Child Protective Services, quick! 

---- 

After the first few months of initial helplessness, Harry found everything got better as his body started to get strong enough that he could move. His parents were startled by his progress. He crawled early and walked early and whenever Lily lost track of him, she'd find him in one of two places: in the study having pulled down one or more of her magic books and playing his 'read like mommy' game where he stared at and occasionally flipped those pages, or out in the garden exploring her plants. 

In actuality, Harry was studying as hard as he could. 

Nor was he doing this just for himself. Anastasia/Luna and Electra/Ginny were both in newborn bodies and could hardly do a thing for themselves. So now he got to return the favor they had done for him, reading to them to pass away the hours. 

Daphne/Hermione was in a body precisely as capable as his. They'd compared dates and her new parents had decided to grant her almost Harry's exact birthday. Where he was born 31 July 1980, the Greengrasses had decided to celebrate hers as if it had been on the 29th of July that same year. 

They'd had a fair amount of discussion over whether or not the Prophecy could refer to her now, but that got resolved by the observation that her new parents had never defied the Dork Lord, only avoided him as much as possible. 

James had taken the next ghostly warning, the one Urd sent, even more seriously than the first, flooing several members of the Order to meet him there. Lily had left Harry with Molly Weasley (who, while not a top notch front line fighter, served the Order well as their nanny, taking care of children so their mothers could fight), and gone too. 

The attack had been another bad one, but with so much of the Order there it was repulsed with ease, and they even took some Death Eaters prisoner, for questioning. That gave them vital information for foiling the next set of attacks. 

However, in one of those actions, Harry's mother got hurt. 

Resolved he wouldn't let her die for him again, Harry practiced in any way that he could. Knowledge was power, and being helpless or trusting others to think for him got him condemned to Azkaban without a trial the first time around. So he read any book he could pull off his parents' shelves, learned to climb so that he could read books stored higher up, and practiced what he could 'playing' in the garden. Mostly that was Herbology, though instead of making simple mud pies he did go through the motions of mixing potions, using dirt and water and sticks while trying to visualize the real thing in his mind, all of the while sharing every detail with his friends. 

Anastasia/Luna turned out to be a big surprise for them. Apparently, she'd absorbed their communal studies of Occlumency and Legilimency better than Harry had. As she was now Lucius Malfoy's daughter, she saw him regularly several times a day, and he had no effective shields. 

This surprised most of them, until Hermione reminded them that those were both supposedly very rare arts. 

Whatever the cause of Lucius' ignorance, his mind was defenseless to his daughter's probes and she was able, several times a day, to pick his mind for Death Eater plans. The man didn't know everything, unfortunately, but he did work as a key agent for Voldemort in arranging for Ministry forces to be out of place and unavailable for reacting to Death Eater raids. That role gave him more access to vital information than most of Voldemort's slaves, information that Anastasia/Luna would pick out of his undefended brain and pass on to her friends via the mink-link. 

His other friends were able to add to this. Daphne/Hermione had absorbed magical history books through her skin, practically. She'd loved the subject and known more about this war before going to Hogwarts than many students had known on graduating. Though none of those she'd read had been precise, chronological accounts of each and every strike or counterstrike, later experience in the Second Rise had allowed her to piece together a very respectable image of how the First Rise had gone. 

Electra/Ginny was another surprise, in that she'd grown up in a pureblood household originally the daughter of two Order members. They hadn't talked about it much, but many of their kids had been curious, and between the details each Weasley child (particularly the twins) had ferreted out, they'd been able to piece together a different set of information than found its way into the history books. Also, anniversaries of the deaths of certain friends and family members had been easy and obvious to guess by the way their parents sulked or grew morose. 

Anastasia/Luna had known of several friends and family dates of death as well. So those got added to the pile of information they'd accumulated. 

From this, the four children decided to do what they could to continue to fuel the side of Light against Voldemort's attacks and raids, and it seemed the best way would be to pass on what they knew to Harry's parents in the form of more ghostly, glowing figures. So Harry at once threw himself into working on two key things: first was he had to copy the girls' power of creating ghostly lights, otherwise they'd never be able to convey the information to his parents. Secondly, he devoted himself to mastering Occlumency and Legilimency. 

There was a very good reason for the second, and 'Daphne' in particular felt it was vital to their being able to continue on with the first, once they started. 

They were in the past. It was fluid, and could change (as they'd proven by what they had already done). So knowledge of the history of a future that might not come to exist was not the most reliable source of information. It made for an excellent guide, but details which made it useful might change from results of their own actions and make that history useless unless they could constantly update using local information. On the other hand, information picked from the brain of Lucius, while it could serve alone, by itself thwarting attacks, or as a useful compass to correct their knowledge from the future... 

... well, Voldemort was paranoid. He probably already suspected a spy within his ranks from the raids that had failed already. And Tom Riddle Jr. had already mastered the counterspy trick of controlling who had access to what information, so that by observing what your enemies do to counter your plans, you can deduce what information they had and thus narrow down who could have told them what, until you've identified the leak. 

Then that leak got plugged, pun intended. 

So, even though Lucius didn't know he'd be spying for the Light, having his brain picked by his daughter, and Voldemort would certainly be able to verify his servant as not having done a single traitorous deed by doing his own rummaging around in his head, the Dark Idiot would still be able to tell eventually who it was that was destroying his plans by controlling who knew what and carefully seeding misinformation. 

The only way to counter that was to obtain a second source of information. It became far, far more difficult to identify a leak when you've got more than one. The best would be another handful of highly-placed Death Eaters, but they felt lucky they had access to one. So, they had to play a bit of intricate spy-gaming of their own. 

Pressing himself, building on what he already knew and with helpful encouragement from his friends (and active assistance from Anastasia/Luna), Harry began to read the minds of his parents. What he wanted to know was what they knew from Order meetings. Urd had already told them that Snape was using those as a mine of information for Voldemort. So, what the Order knew, Snape knew, and thus Voldemort knew. 

He would be basing his plans, in part, on that knowledge, using it to his advantage. 

By knowing what sorts of facts Snape was passing along to Voldemort, they had a good idea of what he was learning, and thus what sort of targets he'd pick, and comparing that to their historical perspective, they'd get a fairly accurate idea of how he'd lay his plans. 

It is an inexact science, with lots of guesswork and tangled knots of theory, but that made for a stimulating mental exercise and they didn't have much else to do but think. The friends had discovered that even Hermione had limits on how much she could study without going spare, so discussing and dissecting Voldemort's plans became a highly entertaining form of diversion. 

That's probably what made them so very, very good at it. 

Knowledge from the future, while incomplete, was still good enough to grant them an excellent overall picture. That was a perspective none of the locals had, on either side. The kids knew most of what Voldemort's side had done before, and generally in what order he'd done it. That, coupled with some information picked up from an unsuspecting Lucius and keeping tabs on what Snape learned through the Order, all run through Harry's own unique insight into how the Dark Lord's thought processes worked (gained through years of he and Tom eavesdropping in on each other's minds through a link that did not currently exist), and the four infants were able to consistently predict Voldemort's attacks and other important events of the war. 

Harry would then create ghostly illusions warning his dad, who would then warn the Order, who got to be very good about mustering counterstrikes on demand. They even began to keep a strike force ready, prepared to muster in time to ambush the latest attack. Casualties began to drop, and some began to sense that the war had shifted. 

To Voldemort, of course, such a shift was not acceptable. 

Snape had already told him that it was this Harry boy who was providing the useful warnings. Dumbledore had been most excited about that fact, and proudly shared it with his whole Order. James was far from happy when the next two warnings were ghostly images of himself and his wife and son, but Harry was just glad they had enough information from Lucius' mind through Luna to give those warnings and get his family out of danger in time. 

That led to the Potter family upping their defenses, and keeping guards about. What that meant in practical terms was several close friends staying over, primarily Marauders. A frequent guest was Peter, a fact Harry was both disgusted and immensely relieved by. The murdering rat-man was a spy not even most Death Eaters knew about, but the information he shared with Voldemort was another prime source of data the Dark Idiot used to formulate his plans. Plus, even though Tom Riddle didn't tell Wormtail much, he couldn't get away with not telling him anything. Moldy had to maintain the illusion of some trust, in order to fool the cowardly traitor into believing his master would protect him in exchange for his service. So, by picking through the traitorous rat's mind, Harry was able to add more detail about Tom's plans for the rest of them to foil. 

Anastasia was able to match that and raise when Lucius began to have guests over. The minds of visiting Death Eaters were hardly reliable, in that they didn't visit often (except for the LeStranges, Bella being Narcissa's best friend as well as sister), but the information was still useful. 

Several times Harry got investigated by Dumbledore, who was fascinated by the boy's apparent ability to predict Death Eater attacks. Or, if not the boy, as some (led by Snape) suggested, then what was the source of this wonderfully useful phenomena? 

Harry feigned an exhausted sleep whenever Dumbledore came by, resisting even attempts to wake him up. It wasn't subtle, or particularly elegant, but he just couldn't trust his brand new, ineffectual and barely developed mind shields against the veteran Headmaster. And, more to the point, he didn't trust the old man to act intelligently with the information such contact could offer him. 

Call it unfair, but his own history could not provide one example of a choice that Albus Dumbledore made on his behalf that wasn't the absolute worst thing to do under whatever circumstances prevailed at the time. 

Besides, whatever Dumbledore knew, Snape learned soon after, and what he knew he told direct to Voldemort. So if they wanted to keep this planning advantage at all, it was imperative that the Headmaster never learn of it, or else Voldemort could easily counter it. 

And Anastasia would almost certainly be killed in the bargain. 

Even Lily noticed that her wonderfully active boy would instantly fall asleep at the mere presence of the Headmaster, no matter what he was doing or how soon he'd just gotten up, or eaten, or had a diaper change or whatever. Nothing could keep him awake for these visits, and not even gentle prodding would awaken him until after the Headmaster was gone. 

Disaster struck as Peter, who'd also noticed this rather obvious ploy, threw a pail of cold water over the baby during one of these visits, when nearly the whole Order was present. Shock brought Harry's illusion of sleep to an end and he sat up, crying loudly. Lily rushed over to him, but Dumbledore picked him up first. Harry tried to keep his eyes shut, but feared the worst... 

... when help came from an unexpected direction. 

"URD BOLT!!" 

The platinum haired goddess came rocketing out of one of the paintings, lightning already lashing out from her outstretched fingers and impacting upon the Headmaster with sufficient force to send him screaming through the air to smash into the far wall. Harry came floating gently into the goddess' arms, unharmed, as the frantic Order members brought their wands to bear. 

With an idle, almost negligent flick of one wrist, Urd disarmed and paralyzed them all. Then, with perhaps more force than was necessary, she flared her marks and introduced herself. "My name is Urd, Goddess First Class, First Category, Unlimited License, Norn of the Past and Goddess of Love. And YOU!" her eyes blazed as she pieced the amazed Headmaster with her angry gaze, "are a bumbling old fool who is singlehandedly leading the entire side of Light to ruin! Harry was sent to Earth at this time to destroy Voldemort, and you, Albus Dumbledore, have neither the right nor the privilege to pry into his mind in search of how or why. Is that clear?" 

"My dear..." Albus got painfully to his feet. 

The angry goddess made a fist and Dumbledore got lifted into the air by his neck, slammed back up against the far wall, his face swiftly turning purple. "I don't have to repeat myself, Dumbledore. But I can see I am wasting my breath. You'd find some excuse to disbelieve or disregard my message after I left. So I'll leave you with one you can't ignore." 

The Headmaster screamed as two bolts of lightning lashed out, destroying his eyes and melting them out of their sockets. Shortly after this happened, he was allowed to slump to the floor, breathing heavily. 

Dropping him, Urd turned to face the rest of her audience. "As much as I'd love to tell you names of the spies that he's welcomed into your Order," she gave a hard but very brief glance at Snape, which most of them missed (but nearly caused Severus to wet himself), "I came here on strict instructions, which I have carried out. Albus Dumbledore was trespassing with his mind arts on that which he was forbidden to know. If a warning would've sufficed, that's all he would have gotten. Instead, I could tell that he had no intention of being guided by my words, and would have imagined up an excuse not to. Now, without natural eyes, he will be unable to use those skills. My work here is done," she paused on her way out the room to look back at the crowd. "But I think you ought to know that Heaven is aware of you, each individually, and we approve of the struggle against evil. Still, I feel you should know that if it required this whole Earth to be destroyed to stop Voldemort's victory, it would be done. We can make other Earths, but we will not tolerate the triumph of evil. It will simply not be permitted, even if another Earth has to pass away to prevent it. Goodbye." 

"Another?!?" Lily squeaked out in terror. 

Urd turned to smile at her. "Yes dear, another. There have been quite a few. But, in all honestly, I don't feel that will be needed this time." She bent forward to give the startled mother a friendly pat on one cheek. "Do take care of young Harry for me, will you? I've grown rather fond of the boy." 

And with that, she vanished. 

So great was the impact of her presence that it was another full minute before anyone moved, despite the effects of her paralysis having vanished when she did. It was a groan from Dumbledore that brought them out of that state and into action. 

Religion was rare among witches and wizards, who often didn't believe in any power higher than themselves. So the general consensus after the fact was that they were attacked by a very powerful witch, in spite of the many holes in that story. 

Some wondered, however, and through tales and whispered secrets, news of that events had spread, in garbled form, throughout the magical world within weeks. No one quite knew what form of that story to believe, and many more got invented trying to make some form of sense out of it, but in general all agreed that two things were important about the event: Dumbledore's injury (though most didn't know what it was, as the Headmaster acquired a very realistic pair of magical eyeballs shortly afterwards), and the story of Harry's remarkable predictions got carried abroad as an aftereffect. 

On some consideration, the four friends agreed that it wasn't so bad that the story of the predictions got spread about. The two key sides were already aware of it, so they weren't keeping anything from Voldemort by keeping it a secret. 

Naturally, the Ministry wanted to get involved, making use of the resource that was Harry to do essentially what the Order had been doing, stage counterstrikes and ambushes to counter the raids of Death Eaters. Only, being the Ministry, they had a rather effective core of trained hit wizards and aurors to do the countering. So long as these troops weren't getting sent out on wild goose chases by panicked politicians under Lucius Malfoy's calm suggestions, they made for a far more effective force than a bunch of teachers and clerks. 

Casualties began to drop yet again. 

Although Harry personally hated the attention, it did inevitably get out that there was a prophecy about him defeating Voldemort. The first two lines of Trelawney's prophecy (the part Voldemort already knew), plus Urd's statement on the matter both became wide-spread general knowledge. 

It did wonders for the public's morale, but it did make Harry even more subject to attacks, and under those circumstances his family couldn't just disappear under a Fidelius, as he had to stay somewhat public to keep making predictions. They did put their house under one at Dumbledore's insistence, but a handful of aurors had to be told the secret so they could assist in watching over Harry and passing along any warnings that might be received. 

Meanwhile, the Order faded into the background. Some did visit, as friends, but that only generally took place on the times the family was out visiting. His mom and dad still had school, so during the day Harry was taken to the Ministry building (they had a nursery) as a big, visible symbol of what the current leadership was doing to defeat the Dark Lord. 

Harry found that this curtailed his activities by quite a bit. On the plus side, what he lost in his ability to read books and play in the garden he made up for by what he was able to read in people's minds. Also, Daphne/Hermione had finally managed to begin getting around enough in the Greengrass manor that, with the help of her telekinesis, she was able to start getting at the family books and take over some of the reading for her friends. 

The house elves didn't take her behavior as odd, and those were the ones tasked with her daily care. She saw her new parents twice or three times a day, and just for the heck of it started to read their minds using her newly developing talents. 

That turned out to be a windfall better than anyone had been expecting. 

To remain neutral, her parents had resolved to protect themselves by a scheme of artful avoidance of either side. In order to do that, successfully escaping recruitment, they'd been forced to develop an excellent information network with multiple redundant sources so that the misdirection or inaccuracy of one was not going to stop or hinder their desire to avoid this conflict. Several times Voldemort's people had tried to convert them or trap the Greengrasses into a situation where they must accept membership, and each time they'd managed to evade. 

But, while doing so, they'd assembled an information network superior to either side. And tapping into that via their minds gave Daphne/Hermione an excellent resource for fueling their own predictions. 

They were only just starting to realize what a great advantage the mind arts were, and how they must have affected the lives of people like Dumbledore, Voldemort and Snape. You really did get this feeling of knowing everything when you could tap into the memories of those around you! 

It gave a feeling of being powerful, of being... superior. 

Sensing how deep a pit that was, after all Dumbledore had fallen into it, the kids did not exactly know what to do about it. For now, they really needed the information, but the lure of the power it offered was almost certainly addictive and habit forming, as they couldn't name a person who had it they'd like to turn out as. 

Then again, they only knew those three. 

But, turning that around, no one else they'd encountered had a protected mind. So, given how they'd all been told Occlumency and Legilimency were obscure and not well known arts, it was entirely possible that there really weren't all that many who knew them. 

However this was far from their only topic of conversation. They had discussions ranging far afield, and were already talking about future needs. 

"Ravenclaw isn't a bad choice. You'd hardly even notice the nargles." Anastasia/Luna offered. 

Yes, they were discussing what House Harry should enter at Hogwarts. 

Electra/Ginny's opinion was next. "Well, if Harry is going to be saving Dumbledore's life, maybe he should do it by befriending Draco, and perhaps Snape, and that might require him to enter the House of the snake lord. It has the most unexplored options." 

There was a moment of silence before Daphne/Hermione disagreed. 

"I would like to point out one thing: Dumbledore has done all that anyone could reasonably do, and THEN some, to earn Snape's loyalty. The fact remains that he does not have it." Her tone was very prim, indicating she was upset and trying to hide it. 

"I would submit to you the possibility that Snape's loyalty cannot be gained by acts of kindness or mercy toward him, generosity or proffered friendship. And, if it can't be had from those true sources, he has no loyalty worth having? Recall that, in that book Harry got, there was evidence Snape (while still a student) was practically following in Tom Riddle's EXACT footsteps? Why, I mean, he had the name he was prepared to be a Dark Lord under (Half Blood Prince), and his own crew of minions and cronies? Both of those facts got confirmed by other sources. So there is a very real possibility that, if Voldemort had not already been on the scene, we'd all be dealing with the Dark Lord Severus? 

"I most humbly suggest that the effort required to befriend Snape and/or Draco would be far greater than what would be required to destroy them. And, to be their friend, you would have to become like them to such an extent that you could not really oppose Voldemort any longer - because you would be like him, having emulated those who follow him until you are no longer distinguishable from them. 

"People like other people who are already like themselves. If you smoke it's real easy to get along with other smokers. If you drink you have something in common with other drinkers. If you like sports, anyone else who likes them (and your team) is closer to being a friend than people you may have known for years. 

"To get along with Pureblood bigots, Death Eater spawn and so on, requires you to emulate them and loudly espouse those same views. They actively reject everyone else, even if you're born into the very same family. 

"So, to bond to Draco or Snape successfully would require such a change of self to get them to like you that you would not draw them to the Light. You could only doom yourself to darkness. Besides, there are those who already WERE their friends, and later regretted joining the DEs and tried to leave. The fact that Regulus Black and others like him DIED says quite plainly that you cannot expect a Snape or Malfoy to follow you into the Light as you change toward it, even if they were your friends. Regulus was Lucius' brother-in-law and every bit as Pureblooded as he, while strong hints are laid that Dark members of the Black family are old friends of Snape and Malfoy both. 

"You COULDN'T get closer to them than that. It's impossible. Regulus' breeding was impeccable, and his views mirrored theirs precisely, on every detail we know of! They went to school together, lived in similar households (an environment Snape later emulated for his own home), and as near as we can tell embraced everything about each other's principles, even going so far as to join an illegal Dark Army together and fight alongside each other. 

"There is no way Harry could even come close to that type of bond - a bond which did not save Regulus from death, potentially at the hands of those very 'friends' he felt bonded to. Harry is a Halfblood, born to heroes of the Light and thus suspect. He is the son of Snape's worst enemy, something that Snivellus NEVER forgives him for! And Harry is godson to a noted 'white sheep' of the Black family, one who betrayed the darkness early on to become a Gryffindor - and whose brother Regulus ALSO 'went light' after joining the DEs, and had to be destroyed by his fellows lest he betray them. 

"Harry, even if he joined the DEs personally, would never be free of suspicion from them. He has close ties to too many people who were either Light or left the Dark to become Light. They'd never stop keeping an eye on him or suspecting his eventual betrayal. There is no amount of evil he could do to convince them he was evil enough. 

"Yes, I've been talking of stuff that occurred to Lucius, and Draco was too young to take place in that conflict, but he acted the same during the Second Rise. With the way he idolizes his father he's practically his clone. What Lucius didn't do, Draco won't. Actually it's worse, in that Lucius is a clever man, a plotter and a schemer, always weighing advantages and planning for contingencies, while Draco is a blind follower. 

"I most humbly suggest that you could never be certain of Draco or Snape's friendship, even if you had it. While, on the other hand, it would be far easier to destroy them both, put them in Azkaban (or turn them to stone - even better) and get rid of them. THEN you could be certain they would not kill Dumbledore. 

"And concerning turning them both to stone. Okay, if you want to redeem them. Fine, go ahead and try. But NOT when Voldemort is around for them to follow or look up to! He is too much of a lead weight, drawing them both down into darkness, and neither will ever really consider another course while he is around. (Why do we know this? Because they didn't). 

"Anyway, if you want to turn them Light then get them out of the way for awhile until after you've dealt with Voldemort! And the easiest way to do that is by ambushing them with a certain King of Serpents Salazar so kindly hid out in the basement for just such an occasion! Set them up so they see it in a mirror first, then drag both of their bodies down into the Chamber and forget about them until Voldemort is gone. Stone does not age, eat or sleep, and can't easily get out of it's containment. They are trapped until you release them. As far as the wizarding world is concerned, they have merely disappeared. LOTS of people are disappearing during this war! 

"Or, as an alternative, turn only Snape to stone. While he is at Hogwarts Draco has a DE role model to train him in the ways of evil. Actually, all of Slytherin was turning more than slightly evil under the Potion Master's tutelage. Turn off the source of that corruption before you try to clean out the rest. 

"Also, taking Snape out early (like the first night) gives us another real bonus in that Dumbledore would be forced to get us another Professor to do the teaching! Regardless of anything ever said about his supposed skill at making potions, we all have ENDLESS evidence of how rotten Snivellus is at TEACHING them! 

"So, if you get someone, ANYONE else teaching the subject (Sirius is a good choice) then you would have a greater crop of potion-skilled students graduating. That means more of those careers requiring a Potion grade, including: Healers and Aurors. Now you CAN'T tell me that you don't need more of those if you're about to go to war! You need as many as you can get, and even those are not nearly enough!" 

Hermione calmed her ranting emotions and took a moment to center herself before resuming her diatribe over their link. "You could destroy Snape and be certain of it. But you could never befriend him and be. Dumbledore was sure he had Snape's loyalty, and Dumbledore was wrong. Dead wrong. And he only learned the truth in the worst possible way and at the worst possible moment. You do NOT want to make that same gamble and find you are mistaken in that same way. And, if Snape was going to betray you, that's the way he'd arrange to do it! 

"So much effort would be necessary to save Dumbledore's life by befriending Snape and Draco, all to an uncertain end, that to my mind it would be pointless. That's going about it the wrong way, too. It's wasteful, like burning $100 bills in a fireplace to keep warm. The value of one of them would be enough to buy firewood for most of the winter, and the warmth produced by a stack of them burning isn't nearly as good as one wooden log would be. You could, in a single well-planned evening, remove both Snape and Draco from being a threat, either dead or statues or caught in such a compromising position that neither could stay at Hogwarts. On the other hand, befriending either one would take, at minimum, years of devoted effort that stands a better chance of destroying you than converting either of them. 

"And, if you failed at destroying them, you could try over again. If you were wrong about being their friend that would probably be the last mistake you'd ever make. And there are so MANY ways to remove them! 

"Trick Draco into casting an illegal spell, then get him caught doing it and expelled! Convince his mother that the brat does need to get sent to Durmstrang after all! Send him out on a wild goose chase to get him out of the castle, then Obliviate his memories and have a muggle couple adopt him! (this could be even more hilarious if he later recovered after, say, about a year), let him get bitten by a werewolf and expose his condition to the school (it worked for Snape getting Remus removed from his teaching post), or throw him off of the Hogwarts train before he even gets there! Fling that brat headfirst out a window while passing over a bridge, or something! He'll be so busy healing up that he'll miss the Sorting and probably have to attend another school! 

"Turn he and Snape into stone. Cover them with plaster and put them out in some muggle's garden as statuary! 

"Then you have the wonderful benefit of having saved all that time. Instead of spending years of your life trying to buddy-up to someone you could never trust to be as loyal to you as you are to them, you could be helping to build up the skills of those you already knew you could depend on! 

"Harry ran the DA! Let's start it over again on our first year! Make it an official club with teacher sanctioning! Quirrel isn't any prize, nor are most of the DADA teachers any better. So if the school won't do it, let's teach ourselves! For that matter, start our own Potions club so our housemates get some decent instruction - show them how and why to do things instead of writing a recipe on a board they could've read out of any book, then leering over them making snide remarks. So long as you weren't being actively dreadful an hour-long Potions club would be ten times better than Snape's classes ever were, and between the other Hermione and us former ghosts you've got enough Potions talent to be giving out really great instruction! 

"Heck, a Potions club would be so MUCH superior at teaching that subject I suspect that 95 percent of the students in Snape's classes could stop attending lessons with him altogether and their grades could only IMPROVE! 

"In fact, I see them as doing EXACTLY that! I'd bet my last cookie you could even get Fred and George Weasley to run club sessions for some upper grades, too. Not that you'd really need them, of course, but the extra participation would mean the teaching isn't all on you and your closest friends. Besides, their mom would probably be pleased as punch at seeing them do something so responsible for once! (even if they did use the opportunity to mix prank items) 

"Actually, consider this: Confide in those twins that the Prefect powers their older brother Percy has could be greatly abused toward the purpose of committing pranks! Show them the benefits of Polyjuice that first year and give them some of their brother's hair! Zap Percy with some sort of sleep potion and steal his badge, then let them commit mischief with it while they look exactly like him! Humiliate Percy, keep him out of the Head Boy slot, and you'd never see him get so high-ranking a job at the Ministry that the DEs recruit him this time around! 

"Oh, and as long as you're essentially firing two teachers by not taking their course and teaching yourself their subjects, make it three and do a History club as well. 

"Do everything the muggle reenacting companies do. Dress up, tell stories, act in period for a certain time. Hire stage actors to perform a few plays depicting the events you are supposed to be studying. Harry has LOADS of money, there's no reason we couldn't make History one of the funnest subjects at Hogwarts by holding feasts where everyone dresses up, even commissioning folks to write plays on subjects that don't already have them! 

"Heck, even reading your book quietly in a corner is going to be better than letting Binns bore us to sleep, his dry monotone convincing everyone that there is nothing about his topic worth knowing! 

"If you've ever been to a Renaissance Fair you know how much fun those can be. Even if you've only ever dressed up for a costume party or Halloween you know this is enjoyable. Get some life in that subject and you'll have all seven years of Hogwarts students dropping out on Binns entirely to attend our school club! Heck, some staff would probably attend too! 

"And while we're on the subject get to those electives early. Go out and see what Professor Kettleburn has to say about Magical Creatures before he retires just as we were about to take his subject. Attend some advance classes under your invisibility cloak so you can see what he has to say on that topic's upper years as well. 

"Headmaster Dumbledore has a regrettable tendency to hire people who are extremely qualified at their subject but have no teaching ability. Hagrid unfortunately falls among those, as do Snape and Binns. Go out and pick up something new before Kettleburn leaves school. Then drop in on courses on all of the other electives as well. 

"That reminds me, you need a Muggle Club as well to go with your Defense, Potions and History clubs. Why? Because wizards don't know the first thing about them, and those classes don't help at all! 

"So, you get yourself a club where you carefully dress everyone in appropriate muggle clothes and go out to a muggle movie, all together in a group where each child has his own carefully measured supply of muggle cash to buy their ticket and a treat, and you chaperone with adults watching over them every step of the way. My original parents would be great at this, and doing 'teaching help' like this from time to time they'd also get a real benefit by being allowed to see their daughter's school. Other muggleborn students' parents could also be tapped for this, I'm sure. 

"Vary those events. Have picnics out on the grass of some muggle park and just watch the ordinary muggles at play. Have this club take a bus, a plane, a boat and a train among ordinary muggles, dressed to blend among them by those who got raised by some. They'd learn more in half an hour of observation than in years of sermons about 'Lektricky'. Send them out in malls with a budget and tell them to go shopping, have them visit arcades and just watch over the shoulders of experienced players for a while before they use their supply of tokens. 

"Invite everyone at Hogwarts to join this club, then entice them with all of the outings you'll be having! Ordinary students get a Hogsmead weekend once every other month, if they are third years or higher, so offer to get them out of the castle more often and you'll have attendance soar through the roof! You'll have record signups among the youngest two years who don't have any other way of getting off the grounds every once in a while. 

"You'll even get some Slytherins on that pretext, and if there's a better way to convince them that muggles are something other than a target on the other end of your wand I don't know what it is." 

After a brief moment of silence, Anastasia/Luna broke in, "So, you haven't any preference as to what House Harry should join?" 

Electra/Ginny giggled. 

Daphne blinked in relief. "Well, if he is to be the youngest seeker in two centuries again he'd really better be in Gryffindor, hadn't he?" 

"He could be the youngest beater in four if he joined Hufflepuff," Anastasia/Luna reminded. "And Ravenclaw's keeper retired the year before I joined, and they still hadn't replaced him." 

"Wouldn't he rather be a chaser?" Ginny questioned. 

"No, he's already caught us." 

End Part Five 


	6. Chapter 6

Reflections Through Time  
Chapter Six

by Lionheart

Author's Rambling Nonsense:

You know one of the saddest things in fiction? I don't restrict this to HP stories, but all fanfiction. It's when an author comes up with a wonderful idea, an absolutely beautiful 'what if' scenario that really fires the imagination and excites you with opportunities, but the author is such a slave to the original material that they swear outright to make sure to follow canon to the last detail - in essence making sure that their previously wonderful idea has no effect on the storyline at all.

Why are they even writing?

What's the point of writing 'fanfiction' that's just another rewrite of the source material? If you aren't going to change anything, don't bother writing! If every mystery, every quest or personal relationship is going to come out exactly the same as the source did, what are you wasting all our time for? We could just go back and reread the originals if that's what we wanted. Fanfiction is a venue for stuff that turns out differently than the original, explores new territory and makes up new problems to solve, or solves old ones in new ways.

It exists to do what the original author did not do, but could have. Anything else is a waste of the venue.

As for Rowling's works... sigh.

The list of things wrong with book seven is longer than the book!

The saddest of all truths about the Harry Potter series is that the very worst of all fan predictions did not even match the horror of the reality, where Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore ADMITS to driving Harry to suicide 'For the Greater Good.'

(And yes, walking up to a known murderer, at large, who has made attempts on your life before, and is armed and in the act of committing further violence, then refusing to defend yourself counts as suicide.)

Dumbledore doesn't use those words. But that's what he said, which lends a VERY creepy note to his statement in Book 1, where after McGonagall asks him to do something about Harry's scar, always a symbol for the boy's link to Voldemort, and Dumbledore says that even if he could - he wouldn't.

Is that not a creepy statement to make? Harry's scar, ALWAYS Rowling's tool for symbolizing his link to Voldemort, and even if Dumbledore could do something about it, he WOULDN'T??

So the obvious inference is, even if Dumbledore could have saved Harry, he wouldn't bother? Just what kind of 'Hero of Light' is THAT?!

Sorry, it's not possible to 'redeem' a character that would do that.

Disclaimer: It would take the IQ of a mountain troll to believe I owned these characters. I will, however, own Harry Potter only after I go back in time and write it myself before Rowling does - and you can trust that I won't make as many stupid mistakes as she does, either!

I O I O I

A figure of glowing blackness coalesced into Death Eater robes, lifted both hands to its hood, and exposed the face of Barty Crouch Jr. who then leered and pulled back his left sleeve to show the Dark Mark on his arm.

The waiting Auror strike force, warned by this illusion appearing over Harry's crib, immediately sprang up to go arrest the man.

The time travelers had decided to go on the offensive, after Voldemort cut back on his own attacks, wary of having sent his men off into too many ambushes, the side of Light having been forewarned by the Infant Seer.

So the four infants had taken the opportunity to thin out the Dark Moron's ranks a bit by identifying some of his followers to the Ministry counterstrike and reaction forces.

This act of service also highlighted that Harry seemed incapable of going through life without acquiring pretentious nicknames thrown at him by an adoring public, and Infant Seer was only the latest one. But, having had a greater effect on this war than Dumbledore or anyone else, it seemed unavoidable that Lily's child had acquired another title for his duty.

Voldemort was going mad trying to put a stop to him, of course.

Although, Moldy's schemes weren't always what they could be. And being fussed over by 'Aunty Cissa' was enough to throw poor Harry for a loop, even after he considered the events that lead up to it.

He had not been a controller for counterstrikes against the Dark Idiot long at all before Harry's continued existence had become intolerable to Moldy. This was to be expected, and, naturally, anything Moldy didn't like had to be dealt with permanently. So his servants began to make attempts to neutralize The Boy Who Flies (what Harry'd been called before Infant Seer became more popular). The first of these were ordinary assassinations, which the defenses around Harry had so far been sufficient for thwarting. The children had all been preparing and planning for what to do when Moldyshorts himself made a personal strike when Malfoy Sr made an attempt that had all of their jaws dropping.

Other Death Eaters tried assassinations of various sorts, but the Malfoy's first try at neutralizing Harry's opposition to the Dark Idiot was the most original scheme they'd seen, and actually kind of amusing to the displaced children.

Lucius Malfoy was a clever man, and one who had made a substantial part of his fortune on the motto of, "Why destroy what I can own?" Thus, if he saw a chance, he would try to steal or control something once before trying to eliminate it. That had actually been the philosophy behind his having instructed Draco to try and befriend Harry Potter in the first life they had lived.

Now he saw such a chance with the baby Harry Potter, the Infant Seer.

Arranging to run into James Potter at the Ministry nursery was child's play for Lucius. Had he not a daughter of his own he could be leaving at that facility while he attended to business there? Engaging Harry's father in conversation and pretending to be polite wasn't much harder. Getting the man to a bar was a tricky part, but pulled off marvelously, in part by dropping a (completely false) hint to the Order member that Lucius himself might be vulnerable to a conversion, having been changed enough by his daughter's birth to be tempted to join the Light.

Utter fabrication, of course, and James was completely unconvinced by this paragon of Pureblood poise and ancestral authority lying through his teeth. But deciding to play along was the work of a moment for the Master Marauder.

Malfoy's act of feigning a sense of fatherly fellow-feeling with a fellow Pureblood was marvelously pulled off, and his lies of admiration were all executed so skillfully that they were almost a work of art unto themselves. They were so good James began to memorize them to use himself on some future occasion. But they didn't begin to convince the canny Lord Potter, who was far more curious about why a servant of the Dark Idiot would be making so obvious an attempt at befriending him, and so played along in order to find out.

The flow of things led the fathers to a bar, each seeking to get the other drunk in spite of the early hour, and Lucius got plastered while the Master Marauder didn't get a drop of alcohol in him (wandless transfiguration had been a prize trick of his and used for countless pranks, and, in spite of its limitations, the low degree of control he had was still perfectly sufficient to turn booze into water as he lifted a glass to drink). At that point Lucy started to spill some details about the trap he'd laid.

Lucy's trap was just too good to resist, so James walked straight into it.

Having gotten each other bragging about their homes and families, it was a simple task to challenge one boast with another and lead to a disagreement of sorts, one that could be settled by a wager, of course!

All according to Malfoy's plan.

So, the next morning, with a hangover that ought to have been able to kill small trees at a distance of thirty yards, Lucius praised himself over the success of the initial stage of his plot as he stared down at the wizarding contract in his hands, signed by himself and James Potter.

Victory ought to have been so trivial after that.

The bet was simple. A housekeeping test, a "I bet my place is cleaner than yours" sort of gamble that was childish and a bit immature and aimed toward intriguing the childlike prankster spirit Lucius suspected lurked in the often whimsical Lord Potter.

In 24 hours from the signing of the bet a previously chosen group of wizards would tour each man's house, doing white glove tests to measure how clean everything was. The winner between Lord Potter and Lord Malfoy got to take any one thing he chose from the home of the loser, to keep for his own in a very real and legally binding sense.

A simple enough bargain, sounding a bit innocent, if a touch risky financially as each was certain to take the most valuable thing they could if they won. Potter would doubtless choose a painting or other costly trinket if he won, which he couldn't possibly, as Lucius had dozens of house elves to do his cleaning for him.

Lucius, on the other hand, was going to take Potter's son!

Let Dumbledore's lackey cast cleaning charms all day long! He couldn't win. And with the present market for house elves as it was, well... Lucius himself had bought every elf there was for sale to prepare for this scheme, during the whole week prior to the bet being made. It was a simple and virtually flawless plan that ought to put that dreadful child into the Dark Lord's hands within 24 hours.

A seer in the service of the Dark Lord. Wonderful!

It would raise the Malfoy's standing in Voldemort's eyes tremendously, and as a direct consequence, allow him to increase his power. Lucius could hardly wait for the bet to be concluded so he could collect his winnings and present this triumph to his master!

However, Lucius' plan, while depending on the observed attitudes of a prankster to get itself started, was plotted through without taking that prankster's genius into account.

James Potter was no dummy. He knew all about house elves and had even gotten Lucius to divulge the bulk of his plan to him in his drunken ramblings last night. He also knew he had until the early afternoon (24 hours from when the bet was signed) to get his house in a condition to where it was more clean than the spotless, elf-cleaned, Malfoy Manor, or he would lose his son.

This presented no trouble to the veteran prankster at all.

So Lucius got up in the morning, headache pounding, and as was his wont when this was the case reached for a bell-pull that hung suspended by his bedside. The purpose of this bell was to summon one of his household elves. He used it for making special orders for things he didn't usually require, like hangover remedies, and it was certainly easier than learning all of the little blighter's names.

The bell was enchanted so only house elves could hear it, and it would summon whichever one was on duty pretty much regardless of where the disgusting creature had managed to hide itself. But, after pulling on the cord, Lucius had made his request three times before the lack of a hangover cure appearing in his open palm convinced him to open his eyes enough to note, after several seconds, that no house elf had appeared.

Concluding that he must have missed the cord, or not pulled hard enough, Lucius again gave the bell-pull a yank, this time a good, sharp one. Once again he was halfway through making his request before he noted the distinct absence of an elf.

Three more sharp pulls, the last so frantic and powerful in his anger that it pulled the cord out of the bell, breaking it, but still no elf appeared. Grumbling about the thing having had its enchantment run out, and weighing the possibilities of braving his pain long enough to go in search of an elf in person, Lucius closed his pain-filled eyes and crawled back into his large, plush bed, rolling the thick, soft covers back over him to blot out the light, all this while never noticing that he was next to naked.

James Potter, along with his friends and fellow Marauders, were downstairs at that time standing outside on the lawn blowing great clouds of soot in one of the Manor's open, ground floor windows from a several ton pile of ash they'd brought to the estate for just that occasion!

All of them were happy and in an excellent mood, but Peter had gone so far as to wet himself as James had told them all the story of how he'd escorted Mr Malfoy home the previous evening, taking him upstairs to let him get some rest in his own bed (this being a very kind and neighborly thing to do, assisting his fellow Pureblood in an hour of need). Of course, nobles (or those that viewed themselves as such, like the Malfoys) did NOT go to bed in their street clothes. It simply wasn't done! So James had kindly assisted him, using charms to remove articles Lucius no longer needed to be wearing and put them in the man's hands - where Lucius would blink at them drunkenly, only to drop them. They'd performed this routine over and over again!

And, well, if Mr. Potter had been playing with the Malfoy's bell-pull at the same time, and the head of the Malfoy family just happened to be standing, propped up, where the clothes he dropped landed on the elves as they arrived, well, that could hardly be viewed as James' fault, now could it?

Actually, the guy had proved to have so many elves that James had been forced to employ charms to dress Lucius again and again, and he seemed to run out of nightclothes by the time no more elves responded to the pull. Luckily, James had been there, able to transfigure a large diaper for the man to wear to bed, so it all turned out well in the end.

Several of the Marauders had laughed themselves blue while he was explaining this to them. The pictures hadn't hurt any.

After spraying the inside of Malfoy Manor black with soot, and adding several tons of dried leaves (stolen from dumps for this occasion) and artfully spraying cobwebs in the corners for good measure, James Potter led his merry companions away to avoid being caught on scene when the judges arrived in a few hours.

Back at Godric's Hollow, they all joined in with the Weasleys in a massive spring cleaning party that James had arranged to get everyone's mind off of the gloom of war, and they finished up right before the judges arrived.

A groggy Lucius was wakened in the early afternoon by the judges arriving, almost simultaneous with his wife's shriek as she returned from a long day of shopping to find her house a wreck, covered in blackened soot and strewn with leaves, with dead spiders hanging in their webs festooning every corner.

Even Snape would have had trouble trying to declare Malfoy winner of that contest.

So, turnabout being fair play and all of that, James had selected for his prize a family member of Lord Malfoy's to take as his prize. And, well, Narcissa was the only one there at the time, the children having been out to the park with their nanny.

In other circumstances, Harry and his girls would have all been silently rooting for Anastasia/Luna. But they had such short notice of the contest they wouldn't have been able to come up with a way of safely communicating that, having only learned what was up when the judges arrived at the Potter house that day. In actuality, they had far less warning even than that, as when the prize first got mentioned they'd all been thinking what magical artifact or valuable trinket the Potters could claim. It wasn't until after James had already stated his choice that claiming a family member as a prize was even possible occurred to them.

The small and intelligent group of babies had been well and truly caught off guard by this singular event.

If the children had been at the house at the time of the prize taking, James would have had a much tougher choice. Grabbing Draco to steal away Malfoy's son and heir had some appeal. However the crux of the matter would still have to be considered, when the fact of the matter hit that Narcissa carried with her almost half of the current Malfoy fortune, given as her dowry from the Blacks, and all that money would have to be withdrawn from the Malfoy estate when she left it.

Such a kick to Voldemort's financial pants would have been irresistible to the lead Marauder, even more choice than the yearned-for look on Lucius' face if they'd taken his son away to raise his pureblood heir as a muggle-lover.

But you can't have everything.

Lily would possibly liked to have had a daughter, but getting one second hand just wasn't the same; especially with Lucius peering around from time to time it would never have felt as right. Besides, James was confident of his own abilities to grant Lily all of the kids anyone could ask for, all on his own.

Plus, an added boost to grabbing Cissa was that she represented a vote on the Wizengamot, holding the proxy of Sirius' mother who was presently too ill to attend personally (and who'd never trust it to Sirius while she considered him a blood traitor, and his brother Regulus was ineligible, being a hunted fugitive).

Losing a vote on the Wizengamot amounted to a kick in the teeth to add to that kick in the pants for the power-mad Voldemort, and was just too good to pass up!

So, Harry got an Aunt Cissy out of the bargain, and Anastasia lost her mother out of her father's failed gamble. Narcissa had to swear an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty to James Potter before he could accept her into his house (there was the Ministry, and their paranoia over protecting the Infant Seer to be considered here, it wasn't just James' idea), but it did happen and Narcissa actually seemed quite happy over it.

The way Anastasia explained it, they could hardly be surprised, as Lucius had, from the moment of their engagement, viewed his wife as nothing more or less than a breed cow to produce pureblood children for him. And, after a few years of not being loved or treated like much of a human, Narcissa was quite prepared to surrender that life in hopes of a better one.

The prank James had played came back to bite him on the rear when he discovered the way the Ministry officials had recorded his winnings. The logic was actually drawn from a goblin treaty regarding the distribution of wealth.

Very simply, the relevant clause went something like this: Changing the owner of an item does not change any properties of the item itself, other than ownership. So, when he took the wife of Lucius Malfoy she remained a wife, just not Lucius Malfoy's.

For the goblins this was a very simple case of: we know whose wife Narcissa was, and we know whose wife she IS. Belonging to you as she does, she is a wife, and she is yours, so, ipso facto, she is your wife. The fact that you already had a wife merely makes Narcissa the second in order of acquisition, and therefore, your second wife.

Before James had even knew this was going on the Ministry had already recorded it as the goblins claimed, with Narcissa as his second wife.

The revelation of this unforeseen turn of events had knocked James out for the count, and he would have been spending a considerable portion of the rest of his life on the couch had not Narcissa seen this as an opportunity to win points over Lily and offered James the option of using her bed - with her in it, of course.

Ambition.

She may not have been in a new environment by her choice, but she was going to climb the ranks in it like any proper Slytherin! If she could rule the roost, she could do as she pleased about correcting the regrettably humble appointments of their meager abode. And the key to all of that was, of course, to engage the affections of James.

If he loved her, her suggestions would motivate him out of a desire to please her, and the easiest way to gain that love was by offering him kindness, and of course her body.

Lily wasn't about to let her sudden rival get so easy a victory concerning their mutual husband's affections, so had to forego punishing James as fully as he might otherwise have earned. Lily was very quick to consider Narcissa her enemy in this situation, not James, who was every bit as surprised by it as she was.

His Marauding friends had much help and support to offer, of course, while busily laughing themselves half to death over the situation. And... well... most of their suggestions weren't very helpful.

Sirius even sprang for a new bedroom set for his delightful cousin to sleep on, with a big heart carved into the headboard, proclaiming "James and Narcissa, together forever."

Lily ran him out of the house for it and came near to canceling his status as Harry's godfather over the perceived insult of his prank, which he made up to her in part by getting her a very similar bedroom set (a very nice one, it must be said) as well as taking care of a certain legal problem for them by covering for James so he could have an actual wedding, thus giving him actual, legal control over Narcissa's assets (snicker) like her immense wealth and seat on the Wizengamot, which Albus immediately proclaimed he could put to good use in service to the Light.

The prospect of saving the lives of many of her friends mollified Lily enough that she gave in to pressure from their friends and admitted that James could not have known of that clause, or that the goblins would invoke it, and that his original intentions to hurt the dark side had been right all along.

So Lily abandoned her plans to create an explosive castration charm to use on her husband.

I O I O I

The former Luna, now bereft of her second mother, was having some interesting name convolutions. To start with, she had four of them: Anastasia Bridgette Pomona Malfoy (and now they knew, or had a good idea anyway, how their headmaster had come to be Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore).

Now Anastasia, her father's preferred name for her, was rather long, taking a full four syllables to say, and thus the sort of cumbersome thing people often neglect to say the full amount of, and putting her at great risk of becoming simply 'Ana', or more appropriately spelled 'Anna', at a much more comfortable two syllables. Although her father, who in his youth had often been subjected to 'Lucy', absolutely detested nicknames, and wouldn't be likely to put up with any amount of shortening until the years wore him down.

Though her mother was no longer present in the Malfoy home, Lucius graciously allowed her to still be permitted to breast feed her daughter, who was rather in need of her mother's nourishment (and the only provable advantage to having magical parentage came in the form of a slight growth of one's magical core from having breast-fed on an actively magical mother - thus something that Lucius was absolutely not going to deny his daughter, and therefore something that James was able to make him PAY to have her do). Narcissa's chosen name for her daughter was Pomona, also weighing in at a slightly cumbersome length of three syllables, and so also subject to nicknames.

No one calls their daughter by their last name only, so no one in her family seemed in danger of calling her simply 'Malfoy'. That left, as the only comfortable option, to haul out her second middle name and refer to her as Bridgette, which weighed in at a comfortable and handy two syllables, which fell firmly in that zone of what people found easy to say. It was neither obscure, nor too pretentious, and if people mistook her for French that was only to her advantage in most circles.

It was also what Urd had called her, and the children had wondered a time or two since that day whether or not the goddess had had a hand in naming her. If so, all present were delighted by that show of affection and concern.

And, as time wore on, those who came into contact with the former Luna found that the most handy among her many names and used it more and more. So that in time even her father and mother were using that handy label.

Bridgette, alone among the girls, was privileged to spend a majority of her time with Harry over her first year. For a very young child breastfeeding seems like it is constant, every two to three hours, and it was just far more convenient to her breastfeeding mother to keep her child with her rather than make trips to the Malfoy Manor so many times a day. Thus, the former Luna simply joined the Potter family as an add-on for that period.

I O I O I

"Harry, consider this carefully," Daphne cautioned.

"Guys, we've GOT to do it!" Harry insisted. "We need to keep my parents alive, and Wormtail is the one who betrays them! We've got to expose him!"

"I'm not saying we shouldn't." The former Hermione continued. "It's only, we've been doing so much exposure of Death Eaters lately that we are running low on sources. Without accurate, current information on Tom Riddle's plans, we won't be able to foil as many attacks - and more people than your parents would die.

"All I'm saying is: if we keep going at this rate, we'll lose access to all our information sources," Daphne cautioned. "Moldyshorts was getting closer to exposing Lucius as a leak all of the time, until Bridgette moved in with you, that is. But now we've effectively lost that source until she moves back, and if we also expose Wormtail as a traitor to our side, we'll lose most of our current cross-mapping capability. Lucius would die within days of being reactivated, and without an inner circle Death Eater whose mind we could get into, we'd lose most of our ability to correct our future knowledge to local conditions!"

"One of the most pathetic excuses of all time is not using the information you have because you don't want to invalidate it. Not using it is the same as not having it!" Harry insisted. "What's the POINT of traveling through time and having future knowledge if you're not going to CHANGE anything!? So we ought to use it As Much As We Can before it invalidates itself!"

Daphne did a moment of thinking. "You're right, Harry. I'm sorry for disagreeing with you. I was wrong. Forgive me?"

"Of course," he sighed, happy that she'd relented. They'd all become so close over the years that openly disagreeing with one another was hard on their morale.

He could hear the former Hermione sucking in her lower lip. "Harry, while we're on the subject, Snape has to be removed, and the sooner the better."

The collected children sounded blinks of confusion through their mental link.

"Not that I'm objecting, but why?" Harry asked. "You yourself just said we need information channels, and without Peter, that's one of our last guideposts for predicting changes Voldemort's behavior: knowing what he learns from the Order through Snape."

Daphne sighed. "Harry, our need to remove Snape has less to do with this war than the second. The principle has been called by many names, many times, "Wars are won in the will", "Morale is the key to victory", and so on, but presumption of victory is one of the strongest forces during battle, and it was our ENEMIES who had it during the second and third rises! When two equal forces meet and one feels sure of victory and the other is certain of defeat, they're both right! Smaller armies have beaten larger, better outfitted and trained ones just because they were sure they could, so they kept fighting until they'd done it!

"But in our case it was worse, as we didn't even get to struggle effectively." Daphne grimaced. "When Voldemort rose the second time the rest of the magical world went down without any real fighting. He'd won before even the first spell had been fired! Those willing to fight against him didn't even number enough to form a real resistance group, and the rest of the magical world didn't oppose Riddle at all! The Light side's will to resist had been beaten out of them long before before his return, and it was beaten out AT Hogwarts, and it was beaten out BY Snivellus Snape! He taught his Slyther-things that they could get away with anything, that in any conflict between them and a non-Slyther-thing, it would be the Slyther-thing that would win! And he taught them that by cheating, lying and breaking rules to protect their foul deeds until his cronies really believed they COULD get away with murder! After all, why not? Snape let them get away with everything ELSE!"

Daphne's voice rose in passionate strength. "Snape encouraged bullying and evil deeds, sheltering and protecting those who did them until the Slyther-things truly believed they were better than anyone else, and that they could BEAT anyone else! He GAVE THEM that presumption of victory! While, on the other hand ALL of the other Houses came to expect being bullied, pushed around, treated cruelly and unfairly, and that there was nothing they could do about it! And he kept it up until a whole generation got raised up to EXPECT it! Snape spent sixteen years breaking the will of the wizarding world, and making the next Dark Idiot's victory certain!"

"The war of the Second Rise was lost before it even begun, because Snape had never stopped fighting the first one!" the former Hermione insisted.

"Now that I think about it, you're right," Electra allowed. "I mean, nobody stood up to the Slyther-things at school because Snape was always lurking about ready to punish any who tried. His House could do anything they liked and not only would they get away with it, but anyone who tried to defend himself just became a target for more abuse. None of the staff would protect us, not even McGonagall, who was trying so hard to be impartial she just effectively endorsed the abuse. So everyone just kind of grew used to being bullied by the Slyther-things, and when the War of the Second Rise started, it was normal for everyone by that point to roll over and continue to accept abuse from the Slyther-things."

"Their will to fight against oppression had been broken long before the fight began," Daphne summarized. "And it was broken BY Snivellus, AT Hogwarts, under the twinkling eyes of our Headmaster."

Bridgette spent a moment considering, before she agreed. "It was Dumbledore who gave Snape that ability, and who stood back smiling fondly while he perverted the office he'd given him to make certain that whoever their next Dark Idiot was, that there would be no resistance to him."

"You don't sound surprised," Electra evaluated.

The former Luna sent them all a mental shrug. "Personally, when Albus stood up and testified before the school that Snape was no more a Death Eater than he was, I took him at his word and have always seen him as just another Dark Lord. That is the only pretext under which the behavior Daphne just described makes sense - Albus wanted to be the one who had no resistance to his rule, so he encouraged and allowed Snape to break their spirits."

They all spent several moments in sober contemplation.

Harry eventually broke it. "Bumble-more kept saying he trusted Snape. In the best case, that might be on the matter of siding against Voldemort. But after hearing her case, I'm forced to agree with Daphne. Snape did more harm than good in the long run by the fact that he couldn't be trusted to do his job."

"It wasn't just NOT teaching Potions, Harry," Daphne admonished. "It was that he strove actively, consciously, and constantly to break the will of anyone who wasn't one of his Slyther-things. THAT cost us the war more than anything!"

"Although the extra Healers and Aurors who never appeared because they never got an effective Potions education would have been nice." Electra admitted.

"Not so much, no." Bridgette corrected. "What it all comes down to is what Daphne has just been saying - the people we had on our side were all sure they'd lose, so they never fought. Having more people on our side would not convince them to fight. Only the idea they might win could do that, and it was that idea, that the Light Side might win, that Snape spent so many years destroying in the minds of all our world's children."

"And, for whatever reason, Dumbledore stood back and let him do it," Harry groused.

"Not just 'let' him do it, Harry," Bridgette inserted. "Dumbledore had so much power he could have kept Snape nearly anywhere and still had access to him as a spy. He could have put him in a shop, or granted him a job at the Ministry, or International Confederation, set him up as as a private potion brewer, or nearly anything else. He chose to put Snape in Hogwarts as a teacher - not as an advisor, or a supplier of potions, or a member of the school board who never actually had to interact with students. Dumbledore chose out of a near-infinite list of possibilities to put Snape there in that position, and kept him there once it was painfully clear what he was doing. The only possible explanation was that it served Dumbledore's purposes to have Snape where he was, doing what he could to break the will of the magical world."

Electra could be 'heard' through their link rolling her eyes. "Well, maybe he was senile. He is pretty old."

Bridgette disagreed. "Someone who is naive, or crazy, will NOT choose all of the worst possible choices, ALL of the time! They will make random or senseless ones as often as bad ones, and mixed in there could also be a few GOOD choices! Consistent bad choices ALL of the time, comes ONLY from a rational yet evil person!"

"So you don't believe he's well-intentioned, yet self-deceived?" Harry asked.

The former Luna sent them all a shrug. "I learned to detest and distrust the old fart for dropping a toddler off on a doorstep with only a letter, to people he knew hated magic. The lad was a toddler and could have (and should have) wandered off. Just dropping the baby off on a doorstep shows a criminal disregard for the child and an inability to form a rational plan. And all other areas under the Headmaster's control show the same rot and corruption. We saw how totally incompetent, irrational, and eager to jump to wrong conclusions the Ministry of Magic is, and Albus has been guiding that body for years! Dumbledore is the one who has guided Hogwarts to its current level of incompetence and poor teaching. His one major responsibility is the school, and he has allowed it to fail academically due to either disinterest or planned destruction. NOTHING that Albus controls is what it should be!"

"So that opens the possibility of the Headmaster being not just an obstacle to be moved around, but an enemy actively engaged in ours world's destruction," Daphne said.

They all spent a sober moment reflecting on that possibility.

"Why?" Electra asked, desperation in her mental voice.

Harry sent them all a shrug. "When you come right down to it, we don't even know Voldemort's ultimate reasons. All we know is the propaganda he trumpets for his followers, which we know are lies. We can guess at his true motives, but ultimately we don't know any more about his true reasons than we do Dumbles."

"Only that between them their actions eventually destroy our world," Daphne whispered.

End Part Six 


End file.
